


The Breaking of Dick Grayson

by solomonara



Series: Chaos Theory [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Blackouts, Captivity, Dick whump, Drugging, Emotional Manipulation, Experimentation, Found Family, Gen, Hallucinations, Imprisonment, Jason Todd is Robin, Mental Torture, Mind Control, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Profanity, Questioning Reality, Tim Drake is Robin, Violence against minors, Whump, canon grab-bag, chaos lord dick grayson, collect all four, comics canon that is not YJ, discussion of past canon dubious consent, graphic depiction of past character death, injured robins, not at the same time though this fic just spans a lot of years, poor impulse control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 78,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15660936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: Being an account of Dick Grayson's spectacular plummet from grace, the people he dragged along in his wake, and his attempts to claw control out of chaos.





	1. Gotham: Now

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for everyone who commented on [No Such Mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996020/chapters/32228082) wondering what it could possibly have taken to make Dick Grayson consent to becoming a chaos lord. I hope you're pleased with yourselves. 
> 
> Beta'd by [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/pseuds/DragonSorceress22), who deserves a cookie because there are a lot of words in this fic and she had to read all of them before they were coherent - some of them twice!
> 
> This picks up immediately after [No Such Mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996020/chapters/32228082), so make sure you read that first.

**Gotham  
_Now_ **

There were, Dick reflected upon fleeing the Batcave, worse things that could result from meeting your interdimensional counterpart. Far worse things. After all, Dick had escaped Batman and Fate's clutches, Klarion was out of the way for the foreseeable future, and thanks to a few tidbits he'd picked up from his little transdimensional jaunt Dick was about to correct the worst mistake he'd ever made in his life _and_ finally get his power wholly under his own control.

He didn't have to go far. Bruce had kept Jason's grave close. Dick wasn't surprised to sense the myriad traps and alarms it was rigged with.

He was, however, considerably surprised to find the grave otherwise empty.

*

The zeta tube flashed and announced the arrival of Robin in the Batcave, followed immediately by Batgirl. Batman heard it but didn't react, remaining utterly still as he studied the damaged sigils carved into a now-empty holding cell. He'd known he couldn't keep Tim and Barbara away for long. They'd make their way back here soon enough.

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Robin entered the hallway outside the cells. "He got away," he said flatly. "How."

That was a good question. Batman had asked Doctor Fate the same thing when she'd come to further secure Klarion and Teekl, because Batman had looked away for all of ten minutes to talk to the Nightwing from that other universe and when he'd looked back one chaos lord had been swapped for another.

"Cats," Doctor Fate had said simply. "Your wards are to keep out creatures of chaos, but cats go where they will. It has always been thus."

Klarion was entombed in the Tower of Fate now, using the same holding magic they'd planned for Nightwing. It wasn't much comfort to know it was working. How Fate planned to keep Teekl from "going where she would," Batman didn't know, but he figured that was Fate's problem for now. Batman had a chaos lord of his own to catch.

"I'm done being sidelined on this," Robin informed him. Batman turned, giving him his full attention at last. "That stunt with the bio-signatures to trap us on the Watchtower? Not funny, Bruce."

"It wasn't meant to be funny," Batman said. "It was meant to keep you safe."

"You could have used an extra pair of eyes down here, admit it," Robin said. "Instead, you tried to do it all yourself and now he's gone and we don't even know what he's planning next."

That was true enough. Before, they'd known Nightwing was searching for information on interdimensional passage. Now that he'd accomplished that… had he gotten what he needed? What was his next move? Batman didn't have the answers.

"Research only," Batman growled.

Robin scowled at him and crossed his arms, but nodded. Batman swept past him to update the Nightwing file, leaving Robin to examine the cell for himself. Robin traced a gloved finger over one of the scratches in the wall. He'd already been researching, of course. He'd given himself access to every file related to the Nightwing case from day one and while he was stuck on the Watchtower elbow-deep in permissions protocol trying to undo the dirty trick Batman had played removing his and Barbara's bio-signatures from the zeta tubes, he'd gone ahead and had a peek at the Lantern Corps and Fate's dossiers as well.

It was only logical that his next step be _field_ research.

 

Batgirl was sitting at the main computer console. She didn't turn to look at Batman when he emerged from the cell area. "Victor's having an aneurism over the security breach that is Tim Drake," she said. She was watching the footage of Nightwing's escape.

"He'll fix it."

"Tim was really pissed. He wasn't nice about it. Left some pretty messy code in there, B."

Batman just grunted and Batgirl finally spun the chair around to level him with a considering stare.

"I did it for your own safety," Batman finally said.

"Oh, I know," Batgirl said. "That doesn't mean I didn't help Tim get back here." She stood and stretched, heading for the bikes.

"Where are you going?"

"You're not the dad of me, Bruce," she called over her shoulder. She didn't even sound angry, just flippant, and that somehow made it worse. Barbara had been living on her own for a while now, balancing time with the Team, the League, college, and her family with apparent effortlessness. Her apartment was a converted loft in an old clocktower, and Bruce happened to know she was taking steps to convert it even more into her own small version of a Batcave. Bruce had been pleased to hear about that project, mainly because she'd involved Tim in it from the get-go and it made Tim happy. Barbara was very good about whisking Tim away whenever he started to edge his way closer to the Nightwing case.

Now Bruce was thinking he maybe should have paid slightly closer attention to exactly what those two tech geniuses were doing out there while he was distracted. Just how long had it taken them to hack their way out of the Watchtower after they'd realized he'd locked them up there? He had an uncomfortable feeling that the answer was "not as long as it should have."

He sighed and called Cyborg.

*

Dick didn't have a lot of self-control these days, and it took every scrap of it not to fling himself back to the Batcave and accuse Bruce of hiding Jason from him. Bruce couldn't know that Jason's body was missing from the grave, or why would he have trapped the grave so thoroughly? Why would he have buried a coffin with no body in it? Because there was definitely a coffin down there, but Dick couldn't sense any organic matter – or at least, not the right sort. He was really glad he had all these extra senses now because he would have been seriously annoyed if he wasted his time digging up something that turned out not to be Jason Todd.

Dick ran his fingers through the healthy, thick grass growing in front of the solemn gravestone. No, someone else had beaten him to this, and not recently. He thought about the flare of green in the _other_ Jason's eyes, the Jason from the other dimension who'd come back strong and fierce and beautiful. Dick knew that green, had known it instantly at the time, and had formed his plan accordingly.

If he was right and _that_ Jason had come back by way of a Lazarus Pit, then he was fairly certain where to start the search for his own little wing in this dimension. Good. Now that Klarion was out of the picture, Dick owed Ra's al Ghul a visit anyway.

 

 


	2. An Uninhabited Island on an Uninhabited Planet: Approximately 4 Years Ago

**An ~~Uninhabited~~ Island on an ~~Uninhabited~~ Planet  
_Approximately 4 Years Ago_**

Nightwing's back was agony, three lines of fire melting together into an inferno of pain. But he could still move, even if he could barely keep his feet, so whatever damage there was, it could be fixed. _Focus_ , he ordered himself.

"You saved her," Klarion was saying, wide eyes on him. In his arms, Teekl's fur was gradually settling.

"Well yeah," Nightwing said, trying for casual. "We're friends, right? If she gets hurt, you hurt. I… don't want that." It wasn't particularly smooth. Neither was falling to his knees in the dirt in front of Klarion, but he couldn't help that. Blood loss was going to be an issue soon. He glanced up at Klarion, wondering if chaos magic had any healing ability, and was surprised to see Klarion looking distinctly worried.

"Hey," Nightwing said. "What's the frown for? I'll be fine." He reached up a hand, the universal "help me up" gesture, and Klarion grasped it, looking dubious. He pulled Nightwing to his feet but ended up supporting him more fully when Nightwing stumbled forward.

"All that blood is supposed to be on the inside," Klarion muttered. "I think."

"Yeah. Don't suppose there's something you could do about that?" Nightwing asked, trying to think through the pain. He was pretty sure collapsing into Klarion's arms was a step in the right direction, but couldn't for the life of him think what should happen next.

"Chaos isn't really big on the whole healing thing," Klarion said.

"Oh," said Nightwing. That was about all he could manage. His vision was fuzzing over with a dark film of dots.

"That's not a good color for a human to be. Hang on. My friends will help!"

 _Friends?_ Nightwing wondered, right before the world suddenly vanished and the pain of having had his back clawed open by an alien sloth-worm beast suddenly became secondary to trying to breathe.

It lasted only a second and then the world came rushing back, so that Nightwing thought he'd blacked out. Klarion had his spindly arms under Nightwing's, hugging him to his chest, but Nightwing's legs had given up trying to do their bit and were mostly dragging on the floor behind him as Klarion stumbled back, practically drowning beneath Nightwing's greater height and bulk.

Then he realized that there _was_ a floor. Not sand or dirt. A tile floor, neutral gray, in a room lit by electricity. An occupied room.

"Klarion, _what—_ ah." That was Vandal Savage's voice. A little shiver of adrenaline zipped through Nightwing and he tried to get his legs to cooperate, but Klarion was lowering him to the ground and he had no choice but to let him.

"I have a new recruit! But he got sliced open a little," Klarion said. "Can you fix him?"

Nightwing's cheek rested against the cool tile even as he ordered his arms to move, to reach for his escrima sticks. He didn't think they were obeying, but he wasn't sure.

"I daresay we can." And _that_ was Ra's al Ghul. Bad, bad, very bad. Was the entirety of the Light here? Nightwing turned his head, getting a look at the rest of the room. No one else – just Ra's and Savage and Klarion. But that was plenty, wasn't it?

"Hear that? You'll be fine," Klarion said, sounding extremely pleased with himself. Teekl mewed in agreement and Nightwing groaned. He had to move, had to get _out_ , this was his chance…

He blacked out.

 

He woke up to a close-up view of Klarion's nose.

"You're awake," Klarion said. He straightened so that Nightwing was looking at an armful of yellow fur instead. Then he stepped back, frowning down at Nightwing.

Nightwing attempted a witty rejoinder, but all that came out of his mouth was a sticky rasp. His throat was sandpaper and his tongue was a useless lump. He was on his stomach on some kind of cot and based on the crick in his neck from having his head turned, he figured he'd been there a while. He tried to push himself up but found each wrist enclosed in a cuff locked to either side of the bed, keeping his arms at his sides. He thought he could see an IV stand out of the corner of his eye, and— wait.

He frowned, bringing his eyebrows together and squinting a little, hoping he was wrong… but no. His mask was gone. As was the rest of his suit. From what he could feel, he was wearing only a pair of loose, lightweight pants. There were bandages across his back; they pulled slightly with each miniscule movement, but the pain of the wounds was dulled, lurking behind what he recognized as a layer of painkillers. And who knew what else.

"They tell me you lied to me," Klarion said, his frown turning into a glare mirrored by Teekl's. "That it was all just a game to get free."

"Not—" He broke off with a dry cough and pressed his forehead into the hard cot, trying to relieve the ache in his neck. "Not a game."

"Really?" Klarion asked. "That's a pity." His frown turned to a wide, wicked smile. "I like games."

"It's my _life_ ," Dick growled. "You kidnapped me and left me to die. Believe me when I say I was not playing." He should probably be trying to salvage whatever goodwill Klarion held toward him, but he felt no inclination to stop his mouth from getting him into trouble. Too late, he remembered the IV feeding him an unknown chemical cocktail.

"That just means more interesting stakes," Klarion said. "Tell me, how far would you have gone to get off that planet? What, exactly, would you have been willing to do?" Long, pale fingers combed down Teekl's back and she arched into the touch before slithering up Klarion's arm to curl around his neck.

"Klarion," Dick said, trying to find the right button to press, the right phrasing that would give him an edge. His brain felt slow, though, his thoughts behind the same wall as the pain. He'd been angry a second ago. Where had that gone? Focus! "I saved Teekl's life. You owe me."

"And I saved yours right back," Klarion said. "Look, all the blood is on the inside now."

"Yeah. Thanks for that. But if you leave me here, the Light will— actually I have no idea what the Light will do, but it won't be good."

"Oh, it really won't be," Klarion said with more relish than Dick felt was strictly warranted. "But seeing as how we're not friends and we _are_ even, and Savage promised to stick the Joker right back in Arkham if I leave you with them and don't tell any of the others…"

"Not tell— other than who?"

"Savage and Ra's. And whoever they want to bring in on it, I guess," Klarion said airily, turning to leave.

"In on _what_?"

Teekl blinked at him from over Klarion's shoulder. Her pink tongue flicked out over her fangs. Then she and Klarion vanished.

Dick dropped his head to the cot with a groan of frustration. Then he turned his attention to the cuffs holding his arms down. It took an embarrassingly long time, even though they were just standard hospital straps, but Dick did manage to work his way out of them eventually. He blamed the drugs. When his hands were free, he sat up carefully and found the IV in the crook of his elbow. He drew it out slowly and let it drop to the bed.

The room he was in was small and bare but for the bed and the IV. The floor was the same neutral tile he and Klarion had landed on earlier. How much earlier, Dick didn't know, and hated that he didn't know. There were no windows, just a standard door with a lever handle. Dick padded the few steps across the room to examine it more closely, wondering how long he had before the painkillers wore off.

The door was locked, of course, but there was plenty to use in here. The needle of the IV, the hooks that the bag hung from, the metal tongue of the restraint buckles…

Dick picked the lock. Then he took a deep breath and eased the door open just a fraction. The tiny slice of hallway he could see was as anonymous as the room he was in and just as empty. He edged the door a little farther, a little more, revealing the rest of the hallway by inches until the opening was wide enough to slip through, which he did.

Only to find Slade Wilson leaning against the opposite wall, just out of the line of sight he'd had from the open door, watching him with raised eyebrows.

 _Shit_. _No, wait. Think_. Slade wasn't in costume, wasn't even (visibly) armed. And Dick wasn't in costume, either. He widened his eyes. "Oh thank God," he said. If Slade didn't know who he was, maybe he could protect his identity _and_ get the drop on him long enough to get out of this. 

Yeah. Badly injured, drugged, and wearing nothing but pajama pants, Dick Grayson was going to get the better of Slade Wilson. Well, he was desperate.

"I don't know where I am. Please, can you help?" He took a stumbling step forward.

Slade barked out a laugh. "That's cute, kid. And were you planning on explaining how Dick Grayson learned to slip restraints and pick locks?"

Dick blinked at him and tilted his head. "I mean, I grew up in a circus," Dick said with a little nervous laugh. His early childhood as an acrobat had in no way taught him any of the above skills but people had a lot of ideas about what growing up in a circus entailed. "But look, I think there's been some mistake, they think I'm—"

"Nightwing. I know, kid, and I didn't need Vandal Savage and Ra's al Ghul telling me. Now are you going to go back in that room on your own, or am I going to have to put you there?"

Well. All right, then. Dick sighed and slid one foot back, getting ready to fight. Slade shook his head. "You must really be high. I'll try not to damage you too badly."

 

Dick ended up back in the room in under a minute without even a new bruise to show for it. All Slade had needed to do was land a glancing blow at his back and Dick's every sense had burst into white feedback. By the time he'd gotten the pain under control, he'd already been deposited back in the room he'd just escaped from. Now Dick was standing in the middle of the it glaring at the door (which Slade had _locked_ again after throwing him in here, just to be petty, Dick was sure) and trying to hang on to that anger because what was left if it was gone was just pain and fear.

Deathstroke was working for the Light. That wasn't a particularly encouraging turn of events. On the other hand, Dick was almost certainly back on Earth, which meant the odds of rescue had improved from when he'd been trapped on Klarion's island, as had the odds of escape – though the latter still looked pretty grim.

And then there was the unfortunate revelation of his identity, though apparently it wasn't much of a revelation to Slade at all. For that matter, Dick knew that Ra's had already been aware of it as well. Savage… it was possible Savage had already known, the guy was _really old_ , he probably picked things up quick. Either way, they seemed not to want to share that information, so that worked in his favor, though he did wonder _why_. Maybe Ra's was calling the shots here; he'd known for years and hadn't spread around the information or let anyone else use it against Bruce, for whatever obscure reason.

At least Ra's and company seemed somewhat unprepared to hold him. The cot he'd woken on looked pretty portable, and had obviously just been shoved in the otherwise empty room haphazardly. The lock on the door had been laughable. Deathstroke was an admittedly good security system, but Dick would be willing to bet he'd been called out in haste. He'd been held captive enough to get a feel for that sort of thing.

Dick had plenty of time to ruminate on the particulars of his situation, though it wasn't long before he had to do his ruminating sitting down. And then lying down. Before he knew it, he was back where he'd started on the cot, the heat and ache of his wounds washing over him with his pulse. They were working their way up to constant agony, but for now Dick could still breathe between heartbeats, so he tried to focus on that.

When the door opened, admitting Ra's al Ghul and two of his League of Shadows minions, Dick pushed himself up and slid off the cot, putting it between himself and them. Moving hurt. It hurt a _lot_. He did it anyway and braced his hands on the edge of the cot to shove it at them if he needed to – and to give himself a little extra support until then.

Ra's' lip curled, his standard _I can't believe the World's Greatest Detective wastes his time with you_ expression. Ra's had never been impressed by Robin or Nightwing, which was just fine with Dick. The feeling was mutual.

Ra's nodded at his entourage and they advanced. Nightwing gave the cot a hard shove in their direction, but one of them simply stopped it with one hand while the other circled around. Dick grabbed the IV stand. It was a little lightweight for a staff, but better than nothing. He swung it at the closer of the two, who deflected it without a thought, but the blow hadn't been the point. It was just a distraction. Dick ducked under the grab from the second attacker and planted one hand on the cot to vault over it, targeting Ra's.

At least, that was the plan. The minute his feet left the ground, his weight fully on his arm, a spasm of pain went through his back and he fouled the jump, crashing to the floor instead of clearing the bed. The thugs wasted no time. Each grabbed an arm and together they pulled him up, lifting him right off the ground. His back screamed in pain, but Dick swallowed his own scream. That was all he could manage as Ra's minions deposited him on the cot, each with one hand on one of his shoulders and the other gripping an arm, pressing him face-down into the rough fabric.

Dick tried to twist out of their hold but had barely moved before he realized his body simply wouldn't listen to him, every muscle and nerve ending in his back sending white-hot _stop!_ signals to his brain. He growled his frustration into the thin mattress and turned his head to glare at Ra's.

Ra's stepped closer, standing near Dick's hip where Dick couldn't quite see him anymore. He braced himself for whatever Ra's might do, but Ra's simply scoffed.

"Idiot boy. We will keep you sedated until you heal fully, if we must. We don't have time for this foolishness."

"Batman will find me," Dick snarled at him. "Whatever your plan is, he'll stop you."

"Hm. We shall see. In the meantime, you now require more stitches, and since you seem to object to our generosity in allowing you painkillers you can go without until we're through repairing the damage you've done."

Ra's carried through on both threats. He summoned another Shadow from somewhere, this one apparently a medical ninja or something, because she removed Dick's bandages, cleaned the wounds, and stitched him up with professional precision. Dick had stitched wounds without painkillers before, and with the intense pain from the wounds themselves the needle barely registered. He was more distressed by the assassin wielding it back where he couldn't see, and the two completely immovable men holding him down while she did. When it was done, though, she wasted no time in jabbing a syringe into his arm. Dick was fading into unconsciousness before he even realized what had happened.

That was his life for the next… well, Dick didn't know how long. Whenever Dick would start to come to, one of Ra's' devotees would be there waiting with food and another needle, though after the first three times Dick refused to eat he woke up with another IV in his arm instead, this one presumably providing nutrients since food was no longer offered. That didn't stop the hollow nauseous feeling in his stomach, though.

At some point, he woke up in a different room on what felt like a more solid bed. He was pretty out of it, but not so out of it he couldn't recognize that he'd been moved to a more secure cell. Whatever they were giving him prevented him from caring too much. He suspected – when he was aware enough to suspect – that the drug was something a little more than a sedative, because either he'd been out way longer than he thought or he was healing unusually fast. Or maybe they had access to someone with healing abilities who was working on him while he was out. There were any number of possibilities, though the one thing he was sure of was that they hadn't dumped him in a Lazarus Pit; that would have burned the drugs right out of his system. Probably Ra's didn't want to sully his sacred waters with the likes of him.

Eventually – days, maybe? Surely not weeks? – Dick realized that his thoughts were coming together more coherently and there was no one there to re-up the drugs to send them swimming away again. He closed his eyes and breathed steadily, willing his body to burn through whatever was left a little faster. The IV was gone, too, he noticed presently, and it felt like his stomach was trying to digest the rest of his organs in retaliation for being left alone for so long. But… his back didn't hurt. It was stiff, but it didn't feel like the flesh had been laid open and then set on fire anymore.

Dick sat up cautiously, but as slow as he went the blood still tried to rush from his head all at once, leaving him dizzy. He sat with his back to the wall at the head of the bed and breathed for a minute or two, and then noticed for the first time that the "bed" was simply a foam block on the floor. No fixtures, fastenings, or frame for him to make use of. While he was pleased he was lucid enough to even think about that kind of thing, he was definitely not pleased at the options it left him.

The room he was in now was a ten foot by ten foot square. The wall he was staring at from his foam block had a blacked-out rectangular window set into it; observation window, Dick was sure, and he was under no illusions about the ability of anyone on the other side to see in even if he couldn't see out. To the left of the window and directly in front of him was the door: steel, with no handle. Resting just in front of it was a tray with a bowl of broth that Dick could smell so strongly he might have been bathing in it. His stomach was not pleased with the fact that he hadn't already devoured it.

In the corner opposite the door to his right was a toilet and a showerhead poking out of the wall over a drain in the floor. Could be promising, needed further inspection. _After_ inspecting the tray.

He swallowed the broth without much hesitation. After all, they'd already proven that if they wanted him drugged there wasn't much he could do about it. He forced himself to take slow sips, his stomach cramping in delighted spasms over even this small amount of sustenance. The bowl was made out of heavy cardboard, like those biodegradable straws they used at theme parks and the kinds of restaurants that had separate bins for trash and compost, the point being that Dick couldn't break it and use the shards to, say, stab someone. The same was true of the tray.

Dick examined the cell more closely as he sipped. The door was a dead end, for sure. Too solid to even hear anything through, not even a gap between the bottom and the floor. He trailed his fingers lightly across the window. Bulletproof plastic, but if anyone was talking loudly directly on the other side he might feel the vibrations on his fingertips, for all the good that would do. He hoped he wasn't being watched at this exact moment, but since there was nothing he could do about it if he was, he carried on.

The facilities in the corner had all their fastenings and seams beyond his reach inside the wall and were disappointingly sturdy. The shower activated with a button. No knobs to take apart. No temperature controls, either. It was cold.

The drain in the floor went straight down. Dick tried to pry up the grate covering it and only got sore fingertips and a torn nail for his efforts. He might be able to hide something very small in there with a little ingenuity, but at the moment his sole possessions appeared to be a pair of loose cotton pants and a slowly disintegrating cardboard bowl. He tossed the latter back onto the tray in disgust and sat back down on the foam block that was his bed.

Ra's had a plan for him, that much was clear. The broth had been precisely timed – still warm and not yet soaking through the bowl just as he woke up. That meant they needed him awake and healed. He reached over his shoulder, feeling as much of his skin as he could, trying to see if he could figure out what had been done to him. His questing fingers found slightly rougher skin where he'd been clawed, but it wasn't so much as scabbed as far as he could tell. It was barely even raised like some of his scars.

All right then. He'd worry about exactly what had been done to accomplish this level of healing in what he hoped was such a short time after he got out of this. For now – they wanted him alive and healthy. He could work with that.

 

 


	3. Siberia: Now

**Siberia  
 _Now_ **

Finding Ra's al Ghul took time, and if he'd been relying on purely human methods of investigation Dick might never have managed it. As it was, he had to do rather a lot of legwork even with his magic. Chaos wasn't big on pinpointing exact locations, and Ra's was also moving around quite a bit. He was thoroughly off the grid, in both the metaphorical and literal underground, one of only two members of the Light who had thus far managed to evade Batman and the Justice League. Lex Luthor managed it by dint of being extremely popular, extremely wealthy, and extremely conspicuously elsewhere whenever something shady went down. Ra's al Ghul managed it by being paranoid and having an army of ninja.

Dick knew Fate was keeping her third eye open for him and he knew Batman had means of detecting him, so he searched and prepared carefully, stepping into the physical plane for mere seconds at a time, making himself barely a wrinkle in the fabric of reality. Now that Klarion was safely secured away in some dungeon in Fate's tower, Dick could play in the extradimensional folds all he liked. He was free and no one could touch him. Batman and Fate could hold him, sure, but they'd have to catch him first and the only time they'd managed that was when Dick's alternate dimension self had done it for them. He liked his odds.

When he finally found Ra's somewhere in Siberia, he waited until Fate's attention was directed elsewhere – Batman might notice him if he did something showy but it would take him a while to cross the globe – and then manifested right in the middle of Ra's fireplace, walking out of the burning embers like wrath incarnate.

Ra's had been poring over some old scroll at a nearby table and nearly knocked over his wine glass when he saw who'd come for him. Dick smiled to see him so discomposed, a grin that looked like it could draw blood.

"Hi, Ra's," he said.

Ra's muttered some sort of incantation, touching an amulet he wore around his neck, and a shield flared to life around him. Dick cocked his head and reached out a finger to touch it. It resisted for a moment, and then melted around his touch, sizzling away.

"All-purpose magic isn't gonna cut it," Dick said. "Tell me what you've done with Jason Todd and I'll make this visit short."

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about," Ra's said. He'd picked up a sword at some point. That was amusing.

"Wrong answer." Dick lunged forward, reaching for Ra's head, clasping it between his hands and falling into his mind.

He'd done this only a few times before, relying on instinct and his absurd strength to get what he needed. But he'd never attempted to invade the mind of someone with such a developed combination of mystical and mental defenses. Ra's nearly succeeded in shoving him out, and when Dick burrowed deeper he found the way closing behind him. Well, that didn't matter; once he had the information he'd come for he'd tear his way out. He didn't much care about any damage he might do, in this case.

The sick pall of the Lazarus Pit coated everything in Ra's mind, and the place was vast. There was a large corner set aside for dealing with Batman, though, a labyrinth of plans and plots, caverns dripping in green. And there, tucked away, was a still form being tipped into a pit – and then raging out of it, a horror with blank eyes and a feral snarl, dripping with acid green water and a lethal threat to anyone who got close. Dick rushed toward that memory eagerly, followed it even as Ra's yanked it away, trailed it to – yes, there, the Himalayas, stashed away with his own daughter. Perfect.

Dick clawed himself out. Ra's' eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the richly carpeted floor, quite unconscious. Dick had a splitting headache and a few mundane stab wounds. There was a commotion at the door to the study and Dick realized that even while mentally fighting him off, Ra's had managed not only to deal him injuries that would have been life-threatening to a human, but also to alert his guard that he was in danger.

Dick scowled. The stab wounds were more annoying than painful and were already closing, but he'd been lucky Ra's hadn't had an enchanted blade to hand. He considered shoving Ra's into the fireplace, had in fact already kicked him over onto his stomach to roll him in that direction before he reined in the impulse. Ra's had to answer to more than just him, now, and Dick knew he had a limited amount of time before Talia would be warned to pack up and leave her current location. If that happened he'd have to start over again. There would be time for a leisurely deconstruction of Ra's after Dick had retrieved Jason, if that was what he felt like doing. Besides, maybe Jason would want to join in, and it was only right to save a bit of fun for him. For now, though…

It took Dick two tries to slip out of phase with reality. Breaking his way into Ra's mind and out again had worn him out more than he'd thought. He got there, though, winnowing his way through the physical plane until he popped out right where he needed to be.

The compound was in an inaccessible region of the Himalayas threaded through with caverns and tunnels and swarming with assassins, presided over by Talia al Ghul herself. Dick wasn't sure how long Jason had been hidden away here, but that ended now. At least Ra's had done the hard part. All Dick had to do was pluck Jason up and hope he was in better shape than he'd appeared in the brief flicker of Ra's' memories he'd managed to glimpse.

 

Dick skipped the big assassin battle and confrontation with Talia and instead walked through the rock directly to where his senses told him Jason was being kept: a small cave far, far underground where no light had any hope of reaching. There was probably a guarded exit somewhere, but Dick didn't bother searching. The place wasn't warded against teleportation. They clearly weren't expecting anyone like Dick to come for him, or maybe they simply didn't know how to defend against him. After all, Batman and Fate had only recently figured out how to hold a chaos lord.

Jason was huddled against a wall in pitch darkness. No trouble for Dick, but Jason would be completely blind in it. He had grown, but he was thinner than he should be, dressed in tattered clothing that had more than a few bloodstains soaked into it, his hair long and ragged with a white streak near the front that would have given Dick pause if he hadn't seen it on the other Jason first.

Dick thought he was asleep, but when he took a step closer Jason's head jerked up. Dick watched him turn his head side to side as though trying to pick up any further sound. "Kid?" Jason croaked. "That you?"

"It's me," Dick said, calling a small black flame to his hand. Despite the color, it glowed well enough. Jason winced and squinted, even though the light wasn't much.

"You again," he said. One of his hands scrabbled around on the floor and Dick thought he might be reaching for a weapon. Instead, there was a clatter as Jason knocked over a stack of small rocks in his search. The cavern grew lighter, the scattered rocks revealing a small stone emitting a pale blue light. Jason scooped it up from the ground, clutched it to his chest, and stared up at Dick balefully. "Get it over with."

Dick blinked down at him. The light from the stone was almost completely engulfed by Jason's hand and the blue tint lent his face an eerie quality, making it seem even more gaunt than it actually was. "Get what over with?"

Jason just stared at him, unblinking. Since Jason had his own light, Dick dismissed the ghostly firelight with a wave of his hand. He smiled at Jason in what he hoped was a reassuring way and came closer, crouching in front of him. "I'm going to get you out of here, little wing. And then we'll punish everyone who hurt you."

Jason still didn't move, but his eyes flicked down to the stone in his hand and then back to Dick's face. He seemed to be waiting for something. Dick reached down and took Jason's free hand, holding it in both of his own. "Ready, Jason?"

"I… what's going on?" Jason asked faintly, blinking perplexedly at his hand. He yanked it out of Dick's light grasp and closed his eyes. Dick recognized the breathing patterns he was forcing himself into. A calming technique.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Dick said, leaning forward and putting a hand on Jason's shoulder. "But you should brace yourself. The teleportation can be jarring. It'll be easier if you hang on to me."

"No," Jason said. "You're not real."

"I'm real," Dick said. He grasped Jason's wrists and stood, trying to pull him up. Jason tugged back, the hand holding the stone going to a fist and sealing off the light. Dick pulled harder, yanking Jason to his feet. He was taller than Dick now, just like his counterpart in the other universe. "Seriously, hang on," Dick said. Jason just looked bewildered, so Dick shrugged and scooped him up princess-style.

"What— _how_?" Jason asked, staring at the ground as though it had betrayed him. Dick leapt into a fold in space and back out of it in the time it took to take a breath, landing in a small apartment in a tiny, sleepy town on the coast of Italy: the safehouse he'd prepared before going to get Jason. He set him back on his feet and grinned at him.

"There. Safe and sound."

Jason scrambled backward, fetching up against one of the white stucco walls and staring around wide-eyed. The apartment was bright and airy, with a small balcony overlooking a precipitous drop to clear blue waters. The currently unfurnished living area flowed into a cheerful yellow-tiled kitchen. Next to the kitchen was a small bathroom. Opposite these, the single bedroom shared the balcony's view. Dick was fairly proud of it, given that it didn't technically exist in reality. In his current state, he'd known he wouldn't be able to actually get through all the paperwork and quiet dealing necessary to set up an actual physical safehouse, so he'd just tacked this one onto an existing building no one was paying much attention to.

Though, with the way Jason was staring around, slightly wild, he suddenly realized he'd forgotten to include a front door.

"You're real," Jason breathed. "This… I've never been here, I'm not hallucinating this."

In the bright afternoon sunlight, Dick could clearly see bruising along Jason's arms, scars on his hands. His eyes were watering from the light, but he refused to take them off of Dick.

"I'm real," Dick confirmed, a slight growl in his voice from seeing Jason so clearly damaged. "And you're safe now."

A small, slightly hysteric laugh burst from Jason's throat and he _bolted_ , launching himself at the French doors leading to the balcony. They burst open and he vaulted the balcony rail, dangling from it and looking for a likely place to start scaling the cliff below.

"Jason!" Dick shouted. He reached out with his power and seized Jason, hauling him back inside and slamming the doors, sealing them magically. Jason spilled to the floor and scrambled away, breathing much too quickly and shallowly. "Calm down," Dick said. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Let me go," Jason said, his voice distant, faint. "I won't tell Batman. I'll disappear, just don't—" He couldn't get anything else out, his breaths coming harsher. He blinked a few times like he was trying to clear his vision and then the blood suddenly drained from his face and his eyes closed. He slumped to the side, passed out. Dick stared down at him in surprise.

Well. This wasn't going well at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering, no one punched the multiverse in this dimension so I'll be loosely following the Under the Red Hood movie canon for how Jason initially came back to life, with a few tweaks to make it make more sense with this universe (and to just... make it make more sense in general...)


	4. A Hidden Light Compound: ~4 Years Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who keep track of fic updates via bookmarks: this fic will be updating two chapters at a time! Make sure you don't accidentally skip the odd numbered chapters!

**A Hidden Light Compound  
_Approximately 4 Years Ago_**

They came while he was sleeping. Dick hadn't meant to sleep. He shouldn't be tired, he reasoned, after all that time (how much time, though?) spent sedated. It didn't work that way, of course. His body wanted true rest and after he'd explored the cell there was nothing much left to do. He tried to stay awake with basic exercises, but his energy levels were very low. Eventually he sat on the bed, back to a corner and knees drawn up to his chest, and let himself doze.

The door opening woke him from a deeper sleep than he'd intended, but he was still on his feet in a moment. Three of Ra's' endless minions entered. One was carrying a collar that Dick recognized as the type the Light had favored for power dampening and control.

He fought. The collar ended up around his neck anyway, activating with a high whine, and then—

Dick blinked and the Shadows were gone. The collar was gone. He was sitting on the bed again. He was wearing a shirt, long-sleeved, the same lightweight material as the pants.

"What the hell?" he said under his breath. He stood slowly, mentally checking in with each body part. Nothing hurt. He ran his hands over his limbs, torso, through his hair. Nothing obvious had been planted on him.

He paced in what little space he had, letting his mind work, fingertips brushing the wall lightly each time he completed a lap. Losing time couldn't mean anything good, and he was very aware of the significant lost-time issue the Justice League was still working on after tangling with the Light. But Dick should be immune to Starro-tech, and Starro-tech had never required one of those collars. So this was something new. Something similar? Something that wouldn't be deterred by cure-tech?

Dick shivered slightly and glanced at the still-dark window. _M'gann_ , he thought as loudly as he could. _Please, please be looking for me._ Even as he thought it, he knew it was most likely useless. They'd been scouring the planet for the scattered members of the Light since that fateful New Year's Day four years ago. The ones who weren't in plain sight basking in plausible deniability were completely unfindable, using technology, magic, or both to hide from mental scans. They surely weren't about to trip up now.

 

That wasn't the last chunk of time Dick lost. One moment he'd be fighting desperately against the Shadows sent to collar him and then the next thing he knew he'd be sitting on the bed alone.

After one of these time skips he found his hair to be soaking wet, dripping cold water down his neck and leaving the collar of the shirt damp. Another time he discovered several nicks along his jaw, like he'd cut himself shaving, though he hadn't ever been that clumsy with a razor.

This time, he'd gone from trying to break a Shadow's arm (they were sending four at a time, now) to lying on his side on the bed instead of sitting, the intervening time neatly edited out just as always. His throat was raw and his mouth had an awful sour taste. His stomach muscles felt sore and cramped. He'd definitely been puking his guts out recently, which was extra alarming because he had only just been allowed solid foods again.

Dick pushed himself upright and stumbled over to the shower. He gave the observation window a considering look before stripping off his clothes and tossing them well away from where the water would hit, because at this point he'd rather have dry clothes than dignity. The shower was exactly as cold as it had been the first time he'd turned it on, but he stepped under the spray anyway, quickly washing away the sweat and grossness of whatever his last adventure had been. He opened his mouth to wash that out, too, spitting out bile-flavored water once, twice, three times before he was too cold to stand it anymore.

Only after he turned the shower off did he realize he didn't have anything so luxurious as a towel. He settled for drying himself as well as he could with the shirt and wearing just the pants while the shirt dried spread out on the floor. He promised himself that when he got out of this he was going to spend a week under a pile of blankets, preferably within kitchen-range of Alfred. The thought made him feel a little better, though no less damp.

 

After that incident, for whatever reason, things changed. The next time a group of Shadows descended on his cell there was no collar in sight. Dick fought them anyway, managed to break one's nose and drag long, bloody gashes down another's cheek before they shoved him face-down to the floor, arms pinned and a knee in the small of his back. Then it was a needle to the neck and Dick braced himself for impending oblivion.

But it didn't come. The Shadows pulled him to his feet and frog-marched him out of the room – _out of his cell_ – and he still felt entirely himself. He dug in his feet as best he could, not really expecting it to work but trying to buy time to take in his surroundings.

The steel door to the cell opened onto a narrow hallway. To the right was a door that most likely led to an observation room on the other side of the blacked out window. The hallway was only a few yards long, ending at another door, which one of the Shadows who wasn't occupied with dragging Dick along opened with a code. Dick tried to see it but the Shadow used her body to block the screen she entered it into.

Through that door was another hallway, this one stretching off to the left and the right. The walls were cinder block, the floor concrete. Doors identical to the one they'd just come through dotted the walls on either side at irregular intervals, which meant different sized rooms. Some weren't equipped with keypads, but some were.

The Shadows tugged him down the hall to the left, all the way to a locked door at the end, and _oh_ , there were the drugs. Dick's head suddenly felt very light and the floor felt very soft under his feet. "Huh," Dick said, watching his own steps with an intense interest. It was probably a good thing there were two Shadows with a firm grip on him, because they stopped him before he could walk headlong into the door.

The door swished open onto a huge rectangular space Dick immediately thought of as a gymnasium. It had high ceilings, a weird rubberized floor, and a few equipment lockers against the far wall. He wondered if they were locked, and craned his head around and squinted to try to see if he could tell as the Shadows pulled him across the open floor to another door. This door was significant because of the presence of Deathstroke leaning idly against the wall next to it, unmasked but otherwise armed and armored as he usually was on a job. High above, a huge window overlooked the open floor, but the light that was visible through it was artificial. Another observation window.

"What is it with you people and windows. Haven't you ever heard of cameras?" Dick asked curiously, staring straight up at it. Slade raised the eyebrow over his uncovered eye, then looked deliberately up at the rafters. Dick followed his gaze. "Oh, cameras too. Just being thorough, I guess," he said.

"I think I can handle him from here," Slade said. He took Dick by the upper arm and turned, not waiting to see if the Shadows had any objections. He opened the door he'd apparently been guarding and Dick found himself in a stairwell, a few flights of stairs angling upward.

"The acoustics in here are pretty good," Dick observed.

"Do not start singing," Slade replied.

"I have a great singing voice," Dick said, offended. "Also, if you're supposed to be threatening I’m not convinced. Not after all the trouble you guys went through to heal me." Maybe he shouldn't be saying everything that crossed his mind. Maybe he should be trying to steal the sword off Deathstroke's back.

Slade gave him a little shove forward. Dick climbed two stairs then spun, kicking out at Slade's chest. Slade turned so that Dick's foot breezed past. He grabbed the leg before Dick could recover and gave a sharp tug. The foot Dick was standing on slipped off the stair and Dick fell backward. He was an inch from cracking his skull on a higher step when Slade's hand fisted in the front of his shirt, stopping his descent.

"Don't try that again."

"Okay," Dick said agreeably. Slade frowned, as though Dick had actually done something that surprised him, but he set him back on his feet anyway.

"Up," he commanded. Dick obliged.

The observation room at the top of the stairs had a long conference table set in the middle of it. Three walls were lined with computer terminals, though the wall across from the stairwell Dick and Slade entered from also had a door. The fourth wall was taken up by the large window Dick had noted. Ra's and Savage were leaning over the conference table, examining something that looked like a blueprint.

Slade kept one hand on Dick's shoulder as he entered the room. Savage swept up the blueprint before Dick could get a look at it and Ra's straightened to cast an assessing gaze over Dick.

"You look completely out of place here," Dick said. "Like, still with the tunic and cloak look, but surrounded by computers and fluorescent lights. Hey, are we underground?"

Savage and Ra's exchanged a look. "This isn't going to work," Savage said.

"I don't know about that. He seems his usual self," Ra's said. He turned back to Dick. "Richard—"

"Oh my God, don't just use my name like that. It's fucking weird," Dick protested. Behind him, he was almost sure he heard Slade suppress a laugh. Ra's looked a little taken aback.

"No," Savage said. "They'll know something's wrong immediately. We need a different solution."

"Who? Oh, wait, probably my friends, right?" Dick chattered on. "This drug seems to make me pretty agreeable, so I'm guessing you wanted me to hurt or compromise them in some way." Dick frowned. "I'm not going to do that."

"We should have just used torture," Savage said. Dick snorted.

"It is unnecessary for the moment. We haven't tested the full extent of this solution yet," Ra's said. Savage waved a hand toward Dick as if to say _Be my guest_. "Mr. Grayson," Ra's said. "Kneel."

Well, it would be kind of nice to get out from under Deathstroke's hand, and there was no harm in— wait. Dick's knees were already bending when he realized what he was doing. He very slowly straightened, making a conscious decision _not_ to obey. Ra's frowned.

"You see?" Savage said. "We need to adjust the formula. He was more biddable under the collar."

"Until he had to do anything that required reflex or fine motor control," Ra's said in the tone of someone who had had this argument a few times already.

"You guys seem like you have some details to iron out. I can come back later," Dick offered.

Both Savage and Ra's glared at him. "We could still gather combat data on this blend," Ra's said thoughtfully.

"Tempting," Savage allowed. "But probably not particularly constructive. Deathstroke, your professional opinion?"

"He's useless like this," Slade said.

"Rude," Dick muttered.

"He's acting completely on impulse. I'd take him down in seconds. If you were planning on using this in the field, whoever you dosed would be at a severe disadvantage in a fight," Slade finished.

"Fine. We can't do any further testing today, then. Take him back to his cell. Tell us about any side effects you observe," Ra's said. Slade steered Dick out of the room with slight pressure on his shoulder. Before the door clicked shut, Dick heard Savage comment, "Injection is too risky anyway."

"I am aware," Ra's replied. "But we need _something_ for the meantime. If the Detective goes much longer without hearing from him—"

"Keep moving," Slade said, guiding him down the stairs.

"So," Dick said. "You're part of the Light now, huh?"

Slade scoffed. "That sound like me, kid?"

"Noooo," Dick said, drawing the word out and enjoying the way it bounced off the walls and back to him. "So it's just a job. A job for the Light, or is it just Ra's and Savage bankrolling you?"

Slade opened the door and pushed Dick out into the gymnasium. "I'm not—"

Dick took off running. He'd made it three steps before Slade had him by the back of the shirt.

"Spoilsport," Dick said. "I just wanted to do a couple cartwheels."

"I actually believe you," Slade said, sounding rather put-upon. He transferred his grip to the back of Dick's neck and kept hold of him that way, guiding him across the room at an even pace. "But even if you were thinking about escaping, you should know that the other door is locked."

"Duh. Be kind of stupid not to. Hey, how much am I worth?"

"Excuse me?"

"How much are Ra's and Savage paying you? I'm assuming it's not the whole Light council or whatever, since Ra's has this thing about other people knowing Batman's identity, so they've gotta be funding it privately. So how much of a drain on Ra's' bank account am I?"

"Enough to make it worth my while, kid."

"You know, Batman could match—"

"Don't even try it."

Dick huffed and let Slade turn him away while he unlocked the door to the hallway. He was suddenly aware that his feet were freezing, and tried to warm his toes by standing one foot on top of the other. While walking.

"I take it back, they aren't paying me enough," Slade muttered when Dick tripped and pitched forward.

"Me neither," Dick said as Slade picked him up bodily and tossed him over his shoulder for the remainder of the short walk back to the cell.

"My advice, kid? Sleep it off," Slade said, dumping him on the foam mattress.

"That's good advice," Dick said, eyes already closing. Slade shook his head. The door hissed shut behind him when he left.


	5. The Himalayas: Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more reminder that this fic updates two chapters at a time. Make sure you didn't skip chapter 4 from the last update, and make sure you keep reading for chapter 6 in this one :)

**The Himalayas  
_Now_**

"Mother. Has Todd been taken for lessons today?"

Talia looked up from the letter she was writing, a missive to her father that she was suddenly aware was going to have an extensive postscript. "No."

"Then it would appear he has escaped."

"Without you? How distressing," Talia said. On the other side of the desk, Damian stood at attention, hands behind his back, face betraying nothing of what he might be feeling. At ten years old, he was very nearly ready to seize his destiny. There were few tests that remained, but this… would do nicely.

"Hn. It is true that he would have at least mentioned an attempt to me, or have tried to see me before leaving." This was said with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"You've been visiting him often," she observed neutrally.

"As instructed." Defensive, as anticipated. They'd have to work on that.

"The objective is to encourage him to bond with you. Not the other way around."

"If you find my methods unsatisfactory, you might have said something a few years ago. Cease your distraction attempts. Do you trust his current instructor? Might he have absconded with Todd?"

Talia should never have told Damian that his father was a master of disguise. Since then, he'd been peering at every newcomer to the compound with avid curiosity and suspicion, as though hoping to catch the Batman attempting to infiltrate. "You may interrogate him if you wish," Talia said. "But first, perhaps news from your grandfather might shed some light on the situation."

She passed him a tightly furled scroll tucked into a standard puzzle case. Acid would destroy the letter if the case was opened incorrectly. It had been hand-delivered by an assassin just that morning: the only way Ra's trusted to communicate about anything Bat-related these days. Talia thought he overestimated the newest Robin's technical prowess – it was surely no more than Batgirl's – but the delay in communication gave her more freedom, so she didn't object.

Damian opened the case easily and scanned the contents of the scroll. His habitual scowl deepened. "The chaos lord. The Batman's uncorrected mistake," he said. Talia's face remained impassive. Dick Grayson's current state was as much her father's mistake as it was Batman's, probably moreso. But questioning Ra's wouldn't get Damian anywhere. Yet. "You think he has magicked Todd away?" Damian set the scroll case down just a little harder than he should have. "Perhaps he means to kill him more permanently this time."

"Perhaps."

"I will seek him out and retrieve Todd."

"You would confront the creature your father has failed time and again to contain?" Talia asked with an arch of her eyebrow.

"My father's error is in stopping at containment. I shall prove his superior in this and bring back Todd, thus cementing Todd's loyalty and allowing him to take his place as the first of my honor guard."

Talia nodded. It was about time. That would be the next phase of Damian's tempering: managing underlings beyond the typical fodder. A right hand as volatile as Jason Todd would be a worthy trial. "Prepare well, my son. This will not be an easy task."

Damian scoffed and turned on his heel. Talia went back to her letter, thinking carefully about what to add. Her father had meddled extensively with both of her beloved's former protégés. The first he had attempted to twist artificially to his own purposes. The second he had snatched right from under Batman's cowl, deeming him a worthy subject on which to test the extent of the Pit's abilities.

Talia suspected he'd intended to groom Jason as his heir, despite Damian's existence. Whether Ra's didn't trust her, didn't trust Damian's heritage, or both, she wasn't sure. But when Jason came back from the Pit completely mad and practically uncontrollable, he'd given up the idea. He'd planned to simply let Jason loose on the world – perhaps he'd find his way back to Gotham and sow havoc – but Talia had seen an opportunity. She would train him to her son's hand like a hawk, capture that lethal grace and put it to use.

So far, it was going well. If both of them died confronting her father's failure with the first one, though, she was going to be rather displeased.

**  
**


	6. A Hidden Light Compound: ~4 Years Ago

**A Hidden Light Compound  
 _Approximately 4 Years Ago_ **

Dick remembered every second of his slightly-drunk post-injection encounter with Ra's, Savage, and Deathstroke. Not only was every embarrassing moment crystal clear, but he also ended up with a beastly headache and severe nausea when he finally woke up after "sleeping it off." If the Shadows or Slade came for him while he was in this state, he figured he could always vomit on them. It couldn't be less effective than anything else he'd tried.

He would quickly come to realize, however, that remembering was far better than the alternative, no matter how embarrassing. Ra's and Savage weren't done messing with his mind, and their techniques were endlessly inventive. Sometimes their trials left him weak and shivering in his cell, with no idea what had been done to him. Sometimes he woke with small changes to his person: a change of clothing, minor aches like what he'd get from a hard sparring session, or, once, a stray curl of adhesive stuck to his temple.

At one point he woke up to find himself strapped down on a surgical table and covered with electrodes. He stayed still long enough to figure out that they seemed to be mapping his brain, which was harmless enough from a physical standpoint but still disturbing as hell. He got one arm free of the restraints before they realized what he was doing and zapped him with an electrical surge intense enough to make him black out.

Other times, though, he was distantly aware of what he was doing. He'd watch himself follow increasingly complex commands as they tested the extent of their control. Sometimes he could break free long enough to foul up whatever task he'd been given – make himself just clumsy enough that they'd declare the trial a failure and send him back to his cell while they cooked up their next method of control; implants, injections, positive and negative reinforcement… Dick was going to need several MRIs and a bleach bath to feel clean again when he got out of this.

Occasionally they'd bring in Klarion and try to magic Dick under their control. Dick preferred that to the weird science they subjected him to, because magic could more often be resisted by sheer willpower. And Dick had that in spades.

Klarion at first tried brute-force possession and Dick kicked him out of his mind within minutes. Klarion seemed delighted by that turn of events – then he got sneakier, subtly warping reality around Dick so that he couldn’t be sure what was actually happening and what wasn’t. That, Dick figured, was more a psychological trick than a mind control attempt, maybe a strategy to wear him down so that he’d be more susceptible to future attempts.

He thought he had their number by now; the Light were looking for fine control that would give them access to the subject's higher brain functions – their knowledge – and would still allow the victim to be as physically capable as they were normally, rather than having to be controlled by a puppet-master. Bonus points if a team of young heroes couldn't program and administer an antidote in a matter of hours, and if it was faster than growing a clone that might go rogue.

What they planned to _do_ with this control, Dick didn't know. But they hadn't perfected it yet, or he wouldn't still be around.

The worst times were when Ra’s, Savage, and Klarion worked together. They’d drug Dick with something, then let Klarion try to break into his brain while he was suggestible or unconscious and unable to use physical grounding strategies for fighting back against psychic intrusions.

Like now, for instance. Klarion wasn’t even bothering to be subtle, but Dick couldn’t wake up. Klarion’s psychic avatar chased Nightwing through an imaginary Gotham. The skyscrapers warped inward as they stretched up toward a sky purple with cloud cover. Dark, bottomless alleys threaded though them, zagging like lightning bolts and turning the cityscape into a jigsaw puzzle.

Nightwing wasn’t _entirely_ certain this wasn’t an ordinary nightmare, but either way he didn’t like where it was going. He needed to turn the tables on Klarion, but Gotham wouldn’t work with him. The buildings exerted a strange gravity, dragging him down any time he tried to claw his way upward. The darkness of the alleys reached out for him. Behind him, Klarion was laughing. Nightwing was breathing heavily, feeling like he'd been running for weeks. Where was Batman?

_It's a dream_ , he reminded himself. _Or magic or whatever. No Batman. Handle it yourself._ His foot slipped as he leapt from the ledge of one twisted building to the next, and he plummeted. He clawed the air, reflexively going for a line at his belt that just wasn't there. The chasm between the buildings was endless, and the rooftops leaned inward, closing over him as he fell. The speed of his descent ripped the air from his lungs and he squeezed his eyes shut. _Cities don't work like this._ Gotham _doesn't work like this. Help me!_ he demanded of the city.

And it did. Nightwing crashed onto a metal balcony. At the rate he was falling, he should have been pulverized, but it was no more uncomfortable than falling out of bed. He opened his eyes, disbelieving, and pulled himself up using the balcony's railing.

Below him, nothing. Utter blackness. Above him, the buildings had straightened and seemed to be behaving as buildings ought. A small window overlooked the balcony and Nightwing peered through it into an average apartment in which Ra's al Ghul sat on a threadbare couch sipping coffee with Lex Luthor.

"You've been quiet in your part of the world," Lex was saying. Nightwing could hear them perfectly despite the closed window.

"I am pursuing a new line of research with Savage," Ra's said easily. "Something that might give us an edge over our potential partners and their very interesting technology."

"The scarabs," Lex mused. "Yes, those _are_ rather interesting. And worrying."

"Not if we can replicate their workings. Turn them to our own ends. Just in case our partners prove, shall we say, difficult to handle."

Lex nodded casually, though there was a distinct gleam in his eye. "Should you require help with the science—" he started.

"I have considerable resources of my own," Ra's cut him off.

"Indeed," Lex drawled. "And considerable secrets of your own."

Ra's shrugged. "Who does not? My secrets are inconsequential to the Light, but my research may be quite important."

"Fine, fine," Lex said. "But when the Bat confiscates your entire project, you'll wish you'd confided in at least one off-site member. One that, I might add, has extensive experience avoiding the consequences of heroes meddling."

"The Detective is not a concern of mine," Ra's said casually. "He has it on good authority that there is nothing _to_ meddle in at this juncture."

A sudden cackle from above jolted Nightwing from his eavesdropping. Klarion had spotted him. Nightwing swore and glanced around for a getaway route. He still had no grappling gun but the balcony abruptly morphed into a fire escape, one set of stairs leading down into the dark and another leading up to the roof – where Klarion was peering over the ledge, grinning at him.

Nightwing considered for only an instant before plunging down into the dark, not looking back to see if Klarion would follow him. He could just see each step in front of him, barely illuminated by haunting grey light that bled softly from windows he rushed past on his way down. He glanced into them as he went by, but most were opaque, smoky with light. Others opened onto empty rooms – his quarters at Mount Justice, his bunk in his parents' trailer, his bedroom at the Manor.

Behind him, a deafening _whoosh_ of air lifted the hair on his neck and had him instinctively ducking as he leapt several stairs at a time. He couldn't see what had come for him, but he had the impression of enormous wings and talons, all a light-swallowing black. His heart hitched and he knew he needed to stop, to rest, to regroup, but there was nowhere to do it.

The next window he passed showed a room full of weapons. Knives, swords, explosives, handguns, rifles… Nightwing skidded to a stop and spent only an instant searching for a way to open the window before ramming his elbow into it with all the force he could muster. It hurt like hell, sending tingles of pain all the way to his fingertips, and the glass only cracked.

The rushing sound of beaten air came closer and Nightwing rammed the window again. Behind him, there was a snap of furling wings and a colossal pressure at his back as huge claws scrabbled at him – and shoved him right through the window in a shower of glass.

He sprawled across rubberized flooring, burning one of his elbows (even through the suit? That couldn't be right…) and reaching out blindly for any weapon he could close a hand on.

The familiar heft of an escrima stick filled his palm and he almost wept in relief, rolling to his feet and turning to face—

Pain sliced down his chest and light burst in front of his eyes as the room around him shattered, suddenly expanding to three times its original size. Dick was on his knees in the gymnasium-like room at Ra's and Savage's base, Deathstroke standing over him holding a slightly bloodied sword.

"Why did you stop?" Savage's voice echoed into the room. Dick blinked and looked around blearily, forcing his eyes up, past Deathstroke, whose gaze didn't move from Dick. Savage and Ra's were standing at the window watching, their voices projecting through speakers.

"He's done," Deathstroke said. "He broke it."

Dick looked down at himself. There was a shallow cut across his chest. It was bleeding lightly into the torn shirt. It stung, but it wasn't a fatal or even incapacitating wound. He glanced around the room and spotted two escrima sticks not far away, like they'd fallen from his hands and rolled. He could reach them, if he was quick.

"I don't recommend it kid," Deathstroke said quietly.

"How could you tell?" Ra's asked.

"Sudden disorientation. He should have been able to block that easily," Deathstroke responded. Dick's heart was slowly falling back into its normal pace and he blinked heavily, considering whether he wanted to try to stand, or perhaps fall over. He couldn't decide, so he stayed on his knees, heels resting against the backs of his thighs.

"Are you certain it wasn't the pain when you cut him?" Ra's tone was clinical. He probably had a Shadow taking notes.

"I'm sure. It happened just before. You're lucky I have good reflexes."

Dick wasn't sure if Deathstroke was talking to Ra's or him.

"And did you pull any _other_ punches during this bout?" Savage asked.

Deathstroke turned slowly to fix them with a calm stare. "No," he said. "But you did tell me to make the fight last as long as possible. In the field, I'd make different calls."

"Such as?"

Dick inched a hand toward one of the escrima sticks. A knife _thunked_ point-down into the floor a centimeter from his outstretched fingers. Deathstroke hadn't turned back to him and continued as though nothing had happened.

"Depends. If he was a target, he'd be dead from a distance before he even knew what was coming. If he was interfering on a job, I'd incapacitate first – I'd give it maybe two minutes – but that's the kind of damage you don't want."

_Two minutes?_ Dick rolled his eyes but reminded himself it was good to be underestimated.

"You wouldn't kill him for interfering?" Ra's asked.

"Not unless someone was paying good money for it." Deathstroke lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Way this kid sticks his nose in, I figure someone's going to want him dead badly enough to pay for it at some point. Why cheat myself out of potential revenue by jumping the gun?"

Ra's and Savage had a brief conversation away from the mic before Savage leaned back in. "Take him to the lab. We need to figure out what went wrong this time."

Dick grabbed the hilt of the knife sticking out of the floor and launched himself from the ground just as Deathstroke turned back to him. The blade scraped down Deathstroke's armor as he brought an arm up to block, not in the least surprised. Of course he wasn't. He knew he'd left that knife in easy reach. Dick didn't care. He'd considered stealing the knife and waiting for a more advantageous time to use it, but he had nowhere to hide it on his person and there was no way Deathstroke wouldn't notice it missing. It was now or never, and even if it was futile, Dick was _angry_. He might as well vent some of his rage, especially when he knew Deathstroke was under orders not to kill him or even damage him too badly.

Knife fighting wasn't his strong suit, but he didn't need it to be. He let Deathstroke block his first swipe, then swapped the knife to the other hand to feint an upward stroke to the ribs. Deathstroke turned so that it would glance off, but Dick had already dropped the knife and backflipped away, landing in a crouch right by the escrima sticks.

_His_ escrima sticks, he realized as his fingers closed around them. He flicked on their electric current with a grin and ran at Deathstroke.

****

It took under two minutes, which was annoying, but Dick consoled himself with the thought that he'd already been fighting Deathstroke for a while before waking up from whatever mindfuckery Klarion had subjected him to. Plus, he'd been imprisoned for… an uncertain amount of time. After being captured by the Joker, stolen by Klarion, stashed in a pocket dimension, and then trapped on an alien island for… an also uncertain amount of time. He wasn't at his best. If he got out of this, after recovering he was going after Deathstroke with a stopwatch, he promised himself.

It made him feel a little better as Deathstroke hauled him to a medical lab and strapped him to a table. Everything hurt. He'd clearly taken some hits in the fight before he'd woken up, and he'd definitely taken a few after he'd attacked with the knife. He was inclined to think it was worth it.

Ra's and Savage argued briefly over who had to get Klarion to cooperate and come to the lab. Ra's won that fight on the argument that he could start looking over the footage from the fight since he knew Nightwing's normal combat style better and would be able to detect discrepancies. Deathstroke leaned casually in a corner, cleaning his sword, as Savage left to wrangle Klarion.

"Tell me what you experienced before coming to in the gymnasium," Ra's said to Dick. He was playing back the fight on a monitor near the table Dick was tied down on. Dick watched himself go head to head with Deathstroke, to all appearances holding his own, though he had no recollection of any of it. He winced as, on the screen, it became clear where each of his new aches and bruises had come from.

"It will be easier for you if you simply tell me," Ra's said when Dick didn't answer. "I take no delight in hurting you." A Shadow entered the lab, bowed to Ra's, and began attaching electrodes to Dick's head.

"Could have fooled me," Dick muttered.

"We could simply dose you with one of our previous attempts. Some of them made you quite talkative, though they left much to be desired regarding your physical faculties."

Dick spared a brief, pained thought for the information he might have unknowingly given up before shoving it away. There was nothing he could do about it until he got free.

"Aren't you people worried about drug interactions?" he asked. "You've been dosing me for how long, now? Say you come across some miracle combination that does what you want it to – how will you know it didn't work because of some random variable left over from previous tests? A fifth grader would be ashamed of your methods, really."

Ra's considered him for a few moments, then glanced back at the screen where the fight had just reached the part where Dick had woken up. He saw himself parry two strikes. Then his arms went suddenly slack, the escrima sticks clattering to the ground as Deathstroke noticeably slowed so that an otherwise serious blow became the light cut Dick now had across his chest. The Dick on screen dropped to his knees, staring around vacantly.

"Hm," Ra's said.

Savage returned at that moment, looking harried. "Klarion will join us as soon as he finishes feeding Teekl."

Ra's gestured him over and played back a segment of the fight. "Do you observe anything amiss?"

Dick twisted his wrists in their restraints, very aware that despite Ra's and Savage being distracted, Deathstroke's eye was still on him.

"He seems to be in good form. I thought this was a fairly successful test until he broke out of it," Savage said.

"You don't know him," Ra's said. "This boy has never kept his mouth shut for so long in his life. Especially not during a fight."

"I see," Savage turned to Deathstroke. "Didn't you notice?"

"I thought it was an improvement," Deathstroke said glibly. "And since it was so obvious, I did assume you had already noted it. My mistake." He didn't sound remotely sorry.

Dick resisted the urge to insert something sarcastic into their conversation, since they seemed to have forgotten about him for the moment. But it was troubling to be so closely analyzed… and even more troubling that they seemed to be covering all their bases very thoroughly. A flaw like that would have been a dead giveaway if he was fighting alongside his friends; they'd figure out something was wrong right away. He had to hope there'd be other little tells Ra's, Deathstroke, and Savage would all overlook.

"I suppose we could always sever his vocal cords. A nice obvious scar when he returns from his adventure would explain his silence," Savage posited.

"We would still need to effect natural-sounding speech. They speak telepathically when the Martian is present, remember," Ra's said, not even looking away from the playback. "Partially why I recommend her as our target when we're ready to share this little project with our colleagues."

"Well. Perhaps we cut them just for fun, then." Savage leered at Dick, the pale scars on his face twisting.

Dick rolled his eyes, recognizing that as an empty threat. "Pretty hard to gauge control of my speaking if I can't talk," he said scathingly. "Seriously, is there a single scientist in this whole operation?"

"Science?" Klarion said as he materialized in the lab, Teekl in tow. "Are we doing science? I love messing up science."

Ra's looked over at Dick. "Last chance to tell us what you experienced yourself, boy." Dick glared at him and Ra's pressed his lips together in impatience. "Klarion, we need to see what Mr. Grayson experienced in his mind while under the effects of your spell. If you would be so kind?"

Klarion looked at him skeptically. "Savage said we were doing something _fun_. That doesn't sound fun. I've already seen it."

Savage nodded as though he'd expected that. "The _fun_ is that we have detailed information on Doctor Fate's latest endeavor for the Lords of Order. Help us with this and those details are yours, as well as the full support of the Light in setting up an ambush for him."

"Oh, now we're talking," Klarion said, grinning wickedly. He cracked his knuckles and turned to Dick.

"Wait," Dick said. "I'll tell you. You don't need Klarion."

Savage blinked in surprise and Ra's raised an eyebrow. "Why the change of heart? Are you that frightened of Klarion?" Ra's asked, his tone analytical.

"Oh, please," Dick scoffed. "No, just— you don't have to bargain with him. About Doctor Fate. No ambush, no set-up, and I'll tell you exactly what happened."

"Ah," Savage said. "Well. Go ahead, then."

"What?" squawked Klarion. "No fair!"

"I want your word. Do we have a deal?" Dick asked. Savage's word wouldn't be much, but strapped down to a table wasn't a particularly powerful position to be bargaining from.

"Of course. I will tell Klarion nothing about Doctor Fate's current movements," Savage said. "It'll be useful to have something to offer him for later services he's reluctant to render." Klarion pouted at that and turned away in a huff, muttering angrily to Teekl under his breath.

Dick wetted his lips, hating the feeling of cooperating with them. But if they were going to find out anyway, he might as well take the chance that he could protect someone by volunteering the information. He told them what he'd experienced in the mindscape, quickly, and not adding detail unless they pressed him. When he was finished, Ra's nodded to Klarion.

"Good. Now we must see if you have told us the truth, which will be interesting in its own right," Ra's said. "Klarion?"

"What? Make up your mind," Klarion said. "Are you going to help me get the drop on Fate or not?"

"We will," Ra's said. " _I_ have promised this boy nothing, and if he was foolish enough to believe Savage…" Ra's gave Dick that look again, the one that said he found him severely underqualified to be at all associated with Batman. "Well. We live and learn, do we not."

"Great!" Klarion chirped. "One scary home movie, coming right up!" He darted behind the table, up by Dick's head, and flexed his long, bony fingers. Dick jerked against his restraints in pointless anger.

"This is a stupid thing to trade for," he hissed at Klarion. "Even with all the Light behind you, you're no match for Doctor Fate."

"I guess we'll find out!" Klarion said happily. He rested his fingers against Dick's temples, around the electrodes.

"I hope he locks you in the Tower for five hundred—nnngh!" Dick's eyes rolled up and his body went rigid as he was plunged back into the nightmare he'd escaped less than an hour earlier.

 

They got what they wanted out of him: not only confirmation of what he'd told them, but also data on how his brain reacted as he relived the scenario. He came out of it feeling wrung out and breathing hard, too tired to even try to bite the Shadow who undid his restraints, too defeated to even struggle as Deathstroke scooped him up off the table to put him away until the next round of testing. Maybe that was why Slade lifted him in both arms instead of tossing him over his shoulder like he usually did.

Dick didn't care. His mind was scrambled enough that being held against a broad chest and effortlessly moved while he was injured actually had his brain producing some cocktail of chemicals that made him feel _safe_. He tried to keep his eyes open, but when he looked up and saw the shadow of pointed ears and a black cowl where there should have been orange, he gave in and let his head loll back. He couldn't deal with that right now.

He woke up in his cell later.

He went back to sleep.

When he woke up again, he didn't move from the foam mattress, just stared at the wall. He was still wearing the torn and slightly bloodied shirt. The cut on his chest had scabbed over. It itched. He lay there and tried very hard not to imagine the door sliding open and Batman striding in, stealing him away and wiping this base off the face of the Earth. If Batman was even looking for him.

_He has it on good authority that there is nothing to meddle in at this juncture._

He shook himself. That was ridiculous. Of course Batman was looking for him. What he'd "overheard" in Klarion's hallucination had been just that – a hallucination. It couldn't possibly be a memory. Batman was looking for him, and the entire Team, too, and he just had to hold on.

He rolled to his feet and paced a few steps, stretching out his arms. He'd do some basic exercises, get moving. That always made him feel better. But instead, he found himself staring at the blacked-out window.

The next thing he knew, he'd punched it as hard as he could.

It hurt.

He did it again.

Distantly, he wondered if this was some weird side effect, some other form of mental manipulation. Maybe. Or maybe he was just angry, isolated, and desperate for some kind of control. The third time he hit the window, he left blood behind.

The window flickered and went transparent. The other side showed a room with a desk, a computer, a small table and chair. It was hardly larger than Dick's cell, and Slade seemed to fill it. His mask was off and he was glaring at Dick through the window, arms crossed.

" _Stop_ ," he said, the word clearly mouthed though Dick couldn't hear it. Dick showed him one bloody middle finger, then folded it into his fist and hit the window again. Slade sighed and left the room.

Dick turned to the door to his cell and readied himself. It slid open and Dick rushed it, only to be caught easily by Slade and thrown to the ground. He was back on his feet in an instant and taking a swing. Slade allowed Dick's fist to hit his palm and closed his hand slowly, inexorably over it. Dick swung with the other hand but Slade tightened his grip on the hand he'd caught and used it as leverage to twist Dick's entire arm before the other punch could connect. Dick twisted with it to relieve the strain on his shoulder and Slade kicked the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. He shoved Dick the rest of the way down and twisted his arm up behind his back, ignoring Dick's thrashing.

"No point in injuring yourself," Slade said. "Give it up."

Dick suggested several anatomically improbable things Slade could do with his sword and each of his guns. Slade listened patiently until the door opened again and several of Ra's' Shadows flooded the room.

"Finally," Slade said. One of the Shadows stuck Dick with yet another needle and he swore thoroughly as he felt the sedative take effect. "Sweet dreams, kid."

 

When Dick woke up, he had a new accessory. His hands were cuffed, chained to a metal belt circling his waist so that he could barely extend his arms their full length in front of him. The blood had been cleaned off the window and his injured hand had been wrapped. He examined the wrapping, but it was lightweight linen. Not particularly useful.

He waited until the next time they fed him and tore off a section of the cardboard tray, twisting it painstakingly into a shim narrow enough and thin enough to fit in the lock of the cuff. He glared at the dark window the entire time he worked on it until finally getting his hands free and flipping off the window again. If Slade was watching, he didn't seem to care.

Dick didn't plan on injuring himself again, but it was good to know that they'd come running if they thought he might. Maybe that would provide an opportunity. He worked on getting the metal chain detached from the belt next so that he'd be able to use the cuffs as a makeshift weapon. If he could apply enough torque, he might have a shot. And it gave him something to do while he tried to figure out if it was possible to take out Deathstroke and an army of Shadows with nothing but a pair of handcuffs.

 

It wasn't. They took the cuffs and chain from him. But they left him a new shirt, left it right on his body after another blackout. He yanked it off and shoved it into the toilet, then curled up on the mattress, his back to the room, and clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.

**  
**


	7. Southern Italy: Now

**Southern Italy  
 _Now_ **

Jason came to just as Nightwing was lowering him into the small twin bed. He jerked away, tumbling out of Nightwing's arms and bouncing lightly on the mattress. The bed was pushed into the corner of the room opposite the window and Jason immediately put his back to the wall. Sunlight flooded the window, back-lighting Nightwing for a distressingly holy effect. Jason squinted, his eyes beginning to water again.

Nightwing waved a hand and the light dimmed, like he'd polarized the window. He considered Jason for a moment, the peaks of his mask undulating gently. Then he turned and left the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Jason ran for the window, attempted to pry it open. It was locked, or maybe sealed with magic since there was no mechanism Jason could see. Could he break it?

"You dropped this," Nightwing said. Jason whirled. Nightwing was holding out his hand. In his palm was the glowstone Jason had carried with him from his cell. He wanted badly to snatch it from Nightwing's hand, but he didn't move. Nightwing sighed and tossed it onto the bed. "I'm going to _destroy_ Ra's for what he's done to you."

"Him?" Jason blurted. "What about you? You _killed_ me!" Rage washed over him, abrupt and sharp in a way it hadn't been since his first days out of the Pit. Talia and any number of harsh tutors had eventually beaten control into him, but today… today, control was out of reach.

Jason ran at Nightwing, striking to maim, to _hurt_. But Nightwing turned to smoke around his strikes and in his frenzy Jason couldn't even be sure if that was metaphorical or literal.

 

Dick let Jason come at him for a few moments, then simply vanished, not trusting himself to fully engage. He popped onto the roof of his little hideaway and sat cross-legged, peering between the molecules of the ceiling to watch Jason fall to his knees, seething. He saw Jason drag himself under control, then crawl over to the bed and pick up the strange little stone he'd been clutching up until he'd fainted. Jason knelt on the floor, elbows on the bed, head bent like he was praying as he turned the stone over and over in his hands.

What the hell had happened to him? Dick had thought he'd known what to expect after meeting the other dimension's Jason, but this one had never returned to Gotham, had never taken up the mantle of Red Hood. There were glimpses of the same fight and fire that the other Jason had, but this one…

This one was terrified. Of Dick. Dick dropped his head into his hands, trying to ignore the impulse to go back down there and just toss Jason into the anchor ritual. He'd tried pressuring him into it twice now – once years ago with this Jason, once more recently with the other one – and both times it had gone poorly. He was going to get it right this time. Control started _here_.

…maybe he should stay on the roof a little longer.

 

Jason stared at the stone as he turned it, focusing on the way the smooth surface felt against his callused palms. Its glow was barely visible here. He'd never seen it in daylight before, had always hidden it when he didn't need it, afraid someone would take it from him.

He didn't need it now; this place had more light than Jason had seen in years. But… he didn't want to put it down.

He stood and crept to the bedroom door, edging around the frame carefully, all senses alert in case Nightwing should appear. The apartment was empty, though. Small as it was, Jason explored.

There were no knives in the kitchen. No food, either. He wondered if any of the appliances actually worked. At least the refrigerator seemed to be cold.

There was still no front door. No furniture in the main living area. The balcony doors were still shut tight and nothing Jason tried could open them.

He investigated the bathroom next. The plumbing worked, which was a small miracle to Jason after he'd been living in a cave for years. There was also a change of clothes left on the sink. Soap, washcloths, a razor.

A razor. It was the disposable kind, but a blade was a blade. If he could take it apart, he could…

What? Stab a chaos lord? What good would that even do? Jason hadn't been a match for chaos lord Nightwing even when he was equipped with all of the tools and tricks Batman had taught him. What did he think he was going to do now, with nothing but an inch-long blade made to dull if you so much as looked at it too long?

_Maybe use some of that assassin training Talia beat into you_ , he thought. First, he'd have to find a way to carry it with him if he hoped to use it. He sifted through the clothes he'd been left, suddenly aware of how stiff and filthy his current rags were. He shucked them off and left them on the floor without any remorse or hesitation. The new clothes included a black shirt, sturdy black pants with plenty of deep, secure pockets, and a brown leather jacket.

It was a little weird to think of Nightwing picking out clothes for him and he wondered why _these_ clothes, but he wasn't about to be choosy. The razor went into one pocket, his stone into another. He tore a strip from his old clothes to tie his hair back as best he could – the only haircuts he'd had in the last two years had been when he'd let a blade get too close – and then felt ready to face the rest of the apartment again. He was still barefoot but he felt better. Almost armored. Next stop, windows.

The windows wouldn't break, not even when he dumped the mattress on the floor and hurled the thin metal bedframe at the glass. He supposed it wasn't really glass. It could be anything. He stood at the balcony doors, forehead pressed against them, soaking up the last of the day's warmth. The water out in the bay was glittering as the sky rapidly purpled. He wondered what body of water it was, whether he'd see people in it at some point. When the stars came out he scanned for familiar constellations but all he could tell from them was that he wasn't near Gotham. Surprise, surprise.

He'd wondered, in the past when he was lucid enough, whether Nightwing had moved on to the others after killing him. Damian had scoffed at that. No, he'd told Jason. Batman was locked in some kind of strange chase with Nightwing, tracking him but seeming unwilling (or unable) to engage. Jason couldn't blame him, or at least, he couldn't blame him _much_. What could Batman do against a chaos lord? Jason's life might have sucked – constant brutal lessons in extreme forms of combat and survival interspersed with long periods spent alone in a cold, dark cave – but at least he wasn't out there, where Nightwing might discover he was still alive and where Batman couldn't protect him.

Well. That ship had sailed, and Jason was out of ideas. He took the glowstone from his pocket when it was dark enough to see its shine. It was little brighter than the starlight, but there was no mistaking that distinctive blue. He went back into the bedroom and set it on the windowsill. He put the mattress back on the bed and shoved the whole thing in front of the door. It wouldn't make any difference to Nightwing, but it made Jason feel better. He settled in the corner near the window and fixed his eyes on the door, waiting.

 


	8. A Hidden Light Compound: ~4 Years Ago

**A Hidden Light Compound  
_Approximately 4 Years Ago_**

"I can't believe you're this bad at magic. No one is this bad at magic," Klarion griped. Three suns blazed overhead, and Nightwing was sore, tired, and sitting in sand.

"I'm only human," he said.

"You don't have to be," Klarion said.

The suns wavered in the sky, distorted by their own heat, and Nightwing fell backward to the sand, through the sand, down to the very center of the earth. Then he sat up.

"How long have we been on this island?" he asked Klarion.

"Just one eternity, so far," Teekl answered in Klarion's voice. Nightwing nodded calmly.

"I need to get home," he said.

"I can give you the power to move between stars," Klarion replied. "If you ask for it."

"I don't want stars," Nightwing said. "I just want…" He couldn't articulate it, whatever it was. There were a lot of things he wanted. But Klarion nodded as though he understood, and then he wasn't Klarion at all, but Doctor Fate.

"Zatara," Dick said. "Are you all right?"

"I am well, Dick Grayson. Are you?"

"I'm—" He'd been about to say _fine_ , when he shook his head. He was _not_ fine. Something was very, very wrong. And if this was more than a dream – if Doctor Fate was reaching out to his mind – he had to tell him. "I'm trapped. Held prisoner by Ra's and Savage and…" His voice trailed off as he fell asleep right there on the sand.

"We should call it a night," Batman said, amusement evident in his voice.

"I can go longer," Robin said, though his body betrayed him with a yawn. "C'mon, B. Bad guys."

"Bed," Batman said, plucking him from the rooftop with one arm and lowering them both to the street with a slowly released grapple. Nine years old and small, Robin fit neatly in the crook of his arm. "Tomorrow, you can tell me what you learned."

"I learned that crimefighting is _awesome_ ," Robin said, climbing into the Batmobile and curling up on the passenger seat. Batman got in the other side and brought the car to life, roaring out of the alley where they'd left it. "Awesome," Robin said again. "Hey B, what's the opposite of awesome? Would it be like… awe _none_?"

"You're such a _dork_ ," Wally teased him, giving him a shove so that he fell right into the pool. They were supposed to be training. Kaldur was on the other side practicing with his water bearers. The water surged beneath Robin and lifted him out of the pool, dumping him – and several gallons of water – on Wally.

"Hey!" Wally sputtered.

"Deserved that," Artemis commented, sauntering past as she headed for the high dive. Robin laughed and jumped back into the pool before Wally could take his revenge. He floated on his back, drifting slowly away from the edge. Wally grinned and ran right across the surface of the water to the other side, then back again, churning up waves that swamped Robin until he righted himself, sputtering.

"Oh, it's on," Robin said.

"What are you gonna do, Rob? I can literally walk on water."

"I— wait. There's no pool at Mount Justice. What—"

A wave crashed over him, but it was a wave of earth. Nightwing scrambled to his feet as Klarion cackled. Nightwing was… afraid? But he was supposed to be acting friendly. Right. He had a plan to get out of this. He just had to remember it. He smiled at Klarion and reached out a hand to him. Klarion looked confused for an instant, but took it, and Dick pulled him close. He fired a grapple into the trees and the two of them shot into the air, up and up and up, until they broke the leaf cover. When they came back down, they were on a Gotham rooftop.

"Catch me if you can," Nightwing taunted and took off, swinging between buildings, feeling his heart expand with every plummet and swoop. He was flying, he was _free_. He laughed, joy buoying up in his chest, feeling alive, feeling that the world was full of possibilities. He let go of his line at the apex of a swing and plunged, arms out, savoring the weightless feeling at the bottom of his stomach as gravity grabbed at him. He didn't even need the line, anymore. He was invincible. He grinned as the ground rushed up to meet him—

And gasped himself awake.

"Ah. I thought so," Slade said.

Dick swallowed – carefully, because Slade was holding a knife to his throat. Dick was backed against a wall, supported somewhat unsteadily on the toes of one foot. His other leg was curled around Slade's hip. His practically naked hip. Slade was wearing nothing more than a pair of underwear. Dick was dressed as usual, but his usual didn't do much to hide the fact that he was, undeniably, hard. His eyes darted around desperately.

They were in what he assumed were Slade's quarters. There was a bed, weapons, the Deathstroke suit folded on top of a trunk. Those were the things Dick was able to catalog before he came crashing back to the fact that Slade had him pressed up against a wall and Dick's body was apparently _all for_ this scenario.

"Slade," he said, wishing his voice sounded a little less hoarse. "Your hand is on my ass."

"If I move it, you'll fall over."

"That wouldn't be a problem if there wasn't a knife involved," Dick hissed.

Slade leaned in and – oh, God, was he really _nuzzling_ Dick's neck?

"Don't—" Dick started.

"Keep faking it unless you want them storming in here and demanding to know how you broke their control this time," Slade growled into his skin. To his credit, though, he _wasn't_ actually nuzzling. He was hiding his lips. They were being watched?

Dick bowed his head forward to whisper against Slade's hair. "Why do you care?" His brain was now back online enough to note that Slade, in fact, was noticeably unaffected by whatever Dick had been doing prior to waking up. He was close enough to Slade that he could note slightly elevated body temperature – and probably heart rate – but other things remained… professional.

"I don't like being tested." Slade tossed the knife off to the side somewhere and used his now-free hand to boost Dick's other leg up around his hip, lifting him against the wall fully. Dick yelped and scrabbled at Slade's shoulders. "Relax."

"I am _not_ going to—"

"Cameras," Slade reminded him, teeth moving to his earlobe. "But the mics aren't good enough to pick us up if we're quiet," he breathed.

Dick fisted a hand in Slade's hair and tugged. Slade let him pull his head back, grinning. Dick ran the other hand over Slade's neck, slowly, showing his own teeth, contemplating sinking them in and tearing out his throat. He settled for scraping a nail across Slade's jugular. "Tested?" he asked without moving his lips.

Slade spun Dick away from the wall and dropped him on the bed on his back, keeping his place between Dick's legs. He curled over Dick, arms bracketing his head, and Dick froze briefly before he realized this likely meant no watching eyes could see his face. A minuscule nod from Slade confirmed this. "They sent you in here offering yourself in exchange for escape. They want to see what I'll do."

"And why, _exactly_ , would they think that would be tempting enough to test you, Slade?" Dick demanded, raking his nails deliberately down Slade's back and taking some satisfaction from the fact that it made Slade hiss slightly.

"Villains gossip, kid. Now have you got hold of yourself? I'm gonna go dump you back in your cell and alert them to your supposed escape. If you act like you're still controlled maybe you'll avoid the post-mortem."

"Or… you could actually—"

"What? Succumb to your wiles?"

"No!" Dick protested. "Just, help me. You can't be happy they're messing with you like this."

Slade snorted. "Not happening. When I take a contract I fulfill it, and this isn't technically a breach of terms. It's just damn annoying." He took hold of the front of Dick's shirt and pulled him up off the bed, smoothly hoisting him over his shoulder as he stood, one arm like an iron bar across the back of his thighs. Dick had a lovely view of the red welts he'd etched into Slade's back, though they were already fading.

"You could at least knock me out so I have an excuse for how they lost control," Dick muttered into his own shoulder. Slade paused.

"Thought I was gonna have to for a while there," he said. "Look strange to do it now, though."

Dick sighed, then _writhed_ in Slade's grip, twisting his hips and pushing himself up using Slade's back. Slade got the idea and let him slide off his shoulder down his chest, as though Dick had wriggled out of his grasp. As soon as he was on his feet, Dick put his hands on Slade's chest and hitched a leg back over his hip, mimicking the position he'd woken up in. At least now certain body parts were considerably less interested, though. And where was that knife, anyway?

On the desk. Back Slade up a few steps and it'd be in reach. Dick grinned up at Slade and leaned into him, snaking his foot slowly down the back of Slade's leg – it wouldn't hurt to have him trip – and sliding his hands down toward the Slade's boxers. His thumbs slid under the waistband and, as he'd hoped, Slade took a step back.

"Kid…" Then he realized what Dick was doing, shook his head with a tiny grin, and deliberately tripped over the foot Dick had curled around his ankle. Only, he took Dick down with him, twisting him as he fell so that Dick's back was to his chest when they hit the floor. Before Dick had processed the fact that he was no longer vertical, Slade had rolled to the side and hooked his leg over Dick's thigh to hold him still. He wrapped an arm around Dick's throat. and pushed a hand against the back of Dick's head. "You did ask for this, remember," he murmured. That didn't make it easier, and Dick would still prefer to have his hands on that knife. He arched his back to try to throw Slade off and clawed at his arm, but Slade was immoveable. Dick's vision narrowed and he finally blacked out.

 

Since Slade wasn't trying to permanently damage him, Dick woke up in under a minute. He regained consciousness just as Slade opened the door to the narrow hallway leading to his cell, though he stayed limp, hoping to catch the code.

No such luck. He was flung over Slade's shoulder again, so all he could really see from this position was that Slade hadn't stopped to put on pants.

"You can wake up now," Slade said, dropping him unceremoniously once they were inside the cell. "There are no cameras in here."

Dick landed on his feet and cast a considering eye over Slade. "I'm supposed to believe that?" He could attack Slade but… in close quarters, hand-to-hand, he knew that was a losing fight.

"They have a high opinion of your abilities. Nothing hackable, nothing you might use to make something else, no matter how recessed or protected." Slade shrugged. "Job security for me." Slade smirked at him like he knew exactly what Dick had been thinking about attacking him. He deliberately turned his back on him to leave.

"Hey," Dick said. "Did they figure out the talking part?"

"Oh yeah," Slade said, and Dick could hear the grin in his voice. "You got a mouth on you, kid. Might acquire the audio files from tonight as a personal souvenir."

Dick's control snapped and he flung himself at Slade, only to have the cell door slide shut in his face. He pounded his fist against it in frustration and added _taze Slade repeatedly_ to his list of things to do if he ever got out of this.

 

It wasn't long before Ra's and Savage realized that their current solution was imperfect. Having satisfied themselves of Slade's loyalty they continued testing their latest method under more typical scenarios, but Dick shook himself free of it too many times for it to be reliable. Whatever new blend of magic and drugs they were using to make him seem more like himself while under the influence, it made the dream-state more fluid. All Dick had to do was latch on to a logical inconsistency and worry at it until he woke up. He tried to hide his waking, hoping they would move forward on whatever they were planning with a flawed solution, but except for that one test with Slade they always noticed.

"How long have I been here?" he asked Slade one day while Slade escorted him back to his cell. The current technology they were testing on him had left him shaky and light-headed. He couldn't even think of running right now. He just shuffled along trying not to run into walls.

"Few months," Slade said easily. He had no problem volunteering information, had outright told Dick at one point that Ra's had given his blessing for Slade to say whatever he wanted to Dick if it might demoralize him. And pretty much everything about the situation was demoralizing.

Months, though. Dick had known it had to be a long time, but… months.

"Batman's not coming, kid, and they're about ready for phase two here, which means they're going to use you to snare one of your meta friends to use as a guinea pig they can share with the rest of the Light. Then Ra's has personal plans for you in his weird chess match with the Bat."

"Don't suppose you have details on that?"

Slade shrugged. "I'm just the muscle. Good luck, kid."

 

Dick thought about it while he sat wedged in the corner of his cell, eyes closed while the room tipped dreamily back and forth. He'd been here months, and he didn't know how long he'd spent held by Klarion before that. However long it had been, it added up to too long. Slade was right; if Batman hadn't found him by now he wasn't _going_ to. He wondered what Ra's and Savage had done to hide themselves so thoroughly, or whether they had successfully thrown Batman off the trail somehow. Maybe Batman thought he was dead.

Whatever was happening out there, if Ra's got hold of one of his friends and subjected them to the same thing, with the entirety of the Light working on them… never mind what he had planned for Dick afterward, that was bad enough.

An idea was forming in the back of his mind, something he'd briefly considered once before, when he'd thought he'd never get away from Klarion's little island hideaway. A last resort. Was he that desperate yet?

He had to get out of Ra's hands before they perfected their control. What they already had was enough to be seriously dangerous. He needed to warn his friends, warn Batman (find out why no one had come, why they'd given up on him, why he'd _been abandoned—_ )

Dick took a deep breath and pulled his knees tighter to his chest. He rested his forehead on them since he never knew when Slade was watching.

"Klarion," he whispered. "I need to talk to you."

 

It wasn't that simple to summon a witch boy, as it turned out. He wasn't attuned to his name or anything like that, and Dick didn't know any summoning rituals off the top of his head. Dick thought about the magic lessons Klarion had insisted on giving him what seemed like a thousand years ago. He'd been a horrible teacher, but Dick tried to remember his vague guidance about finding his inner entropy and letting it out. All he accomplished, though, was falling into old meditation patterns by instinct, regulating his breathing and calming his mind. Not what he needed just now.

To make matters worse, Ra's and Savage were leaving him alone for the moment. This happened sometimes; either something needed to work its way out of Dick's system, or they didn't have anything new ready to test, or maybe they were called away on Light business. But this time it seemed ominous. Were they out hunting the Team?

Dick became more anxious as more time passed without interruption. It had been at least two days now. "Find the pool of infinite blackness somewhere between the heart and the third vertebra," he muttered to himself. "Sure. No problem. Not like there's a bunch of organs in there confusing the issue." He flopped backward onto the mattress and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Klarion asked.

Dick didn't even have it in him to be startled. "Trying to get your attention," he said. He dropped his hands and stared up at Klarion from his prone position. Klarion was standing next to the mattress, Teekl in his arms, looking down at Dick curiously.

"You missed me?" Klarion cocked his head. "I don't think I believe you."

"No," Dick said. "But I was thinking about something you said."

Klarion nodded sagely. "I say a lot of wise things."

Dick sat up, heart speeding up a little as he realized that this was _it_. Finally. A chance. Don't blow it. "I was thinking… about chaos lords."

 


	9. Gotham: Now

**Gotham  
 _Now_ **

"I'm back!" Barbara announced, dropping her keys on a side table. "Tim?" She'd left him at her loft while she went to class, like she'd done a dozen times before. Tim had taken Bruce's cautious permission to work the Nightwing case and run with it, but did most of his running at her place because he said Bruce looking over his shoulder "negatively impacted his focus". Barbara, of course, assumed that meant he was intending to do something Bruce would disapprove of, but for the most part he did seem to be staying inside the parameters Bruce had set. He'd been so deep in the research rabbit hole she wasn't sure he'd even known she was leaving.

Or maybe he had known and had been biding his time until she was gone before taking off, because the apartment was currently empty and Barbara had a sneaking suspicion that if she called Tim right now she would be lied to. She did it anyway.

"Hey Babs," Tim said. "How was class?"

"Fine. Surprised you were gone when I got back. Where'd you run off to?"

"I just… got hungry. Went out to grab some food."

"Uh huh." A few keystrokes pulled up what Tim had been working on. He'd covered his tracks well, but this was _her_ system. "Tim. Why were you mirroring Bruce's chaos radar?"

"Research," Tim said.

"And what you're _actually_ doing right now is…?"

"Field research."

" _Tim_."

"It's just recon. That's it. I'm not going to—" Whatever Tim was not going to do was drowned out by a sudden burst of static.

"Tim?" Barbara asked, worried. Wayne Tech phones didn't just burst into static.

"—fine, gotta go, emergency landing."

"Landing? Did you steal the Batplane?" Barbara demanded.

"Borrowed! Seriously, Babs, call you back in a bit!" The line went dead.

 

Robin managed to guide the plane down for only a slightly bumpy landing (which is to say: it gouged a serious crevice down a hillside in the middle of some luckily deserted countryside in Portugal). All his instruments had suddenly gone dead, followed by a few distressing engine hiccups. At a guess, he'd say someone had hit him with an electromagnetic pulse. The question, then, was who the hell was hiding out in the Portuguese countryside with an EMP and a grudge against Bats, and how had they known he'd be flying this way?

Robin popped the hatch and poked his head up cautiously. When nothing happened, he slid out of the plane. He needed to do a quick engine check. If everything was fine out here, a reboot should set the plane to rights and he could be on his way and file "mysterious EMPs" under things to look into later.

The plane appeared to be all right. The reboot and diagnostic would take some time, though, and it was the middle of the night here. The darkness combined with the hilly terrain would make it way too easy for someone to sneak up on him. It would also make it easy for Batman to catch up with him if Barbara spilled about what he'd done. Actually, it was entirely possible it had been Batman who'd disabled the plane remotely, trusting Robin to be able to make the landing safely. Hm.

He vaulted back into the pilot's seat and flipped the toggles that would start diagnostics.

And then there was a sword at his throat.

"I will be needing your flight plan," said a voice from behind the chair. Robin edged his eyes over. Based on the voice and the size of the hand holding the sword to his neck, he was being threatened by a child. No discernible accent, though the sword—

"League of Assassins recruiting children now? If you see Ra's, Batman's looking for him."

"You're not fit to speak his name, peasant." The sword pressed closer, forcing Robin's head against the seat. "Your destination. Now."

"If you slit my throat, you'll never get it. You can't hack the Batplane."

"The plane is not what I intend to hack."

There was the tiniest instant of the sword moving away from Robin's neck – probably so whoever was threatening him could stab him in a non-lethal location – and Robin jammed his heel into the eject button. The eject mechanism was mechanical and didn't rely on any electric systems, so it was working just fine. Robin shot out of the cockpit, tangling almost instantly in the parachute as it deployed. He wasn't nearly high enough to need it, which was good because it meant he wouldn't be breaking any bones on landing but bad because being tangled in a few hundred yards of silk was not great for trying to fight off an assassin.

Luckily, a blade tore through the fabric right where he needed it and Robin rolled free, extending his staff just in time to block another strike. His attacker was dressed in black and white and, as Robin had guessed, was a kid. He was as good as anyone Robin had ever fought, though.

Robin blocked and dodged, keeping part of his brain on the Batplane. He either had to take this kid out or hold out until the diagnostic was done, hope it was all clear, and then leap into the plane and take off (without a pilot's seat) before this kid could tag along.

Takedown was the smarter choice. But that was easier said than done. When Robin finally managed to land a hit on the kid he felt a savage sense of victory that lived just long enough for him to realize the kid had taken the hit – a strike to the head – deliberately in order to get in close. And then Robin had a dagger in his stomach, right where the armored fabric of his suit was thin to allow for movement.

"Tt," the kid scoffed as Robin went down. He kept his hold on the dagger, yanking it out when Robin fell away. "You're unworthy of the mantle you wear. If you're all Batman has watching his back—"

"He's not." Batgirl's motorcycle decloaked and she flipped off of it, driving a heel toward the kid's head while the bike skidded to a stop a few yards away. The kid rolled away in a dodge but Robin pulled a batarang out and flung it after him. It pinned his cloak to the ground, drawing the kid up short. The effort cost Robin, though. The glove he had pressed over his wound was thoroughly stained with blood and standing was a little beyond him.

"Look kid, I don't know who you are or why you two are fighting, but quit it!" Batgirl called, putting herself solidly between him and Robin.

"He's League of Assassins," Robin coughed out from the ground behind her.

The kid pulled the batarang from the ground and sent it flying back at Batgirl. She deflected it easily, but didn't attack, standing guard over Robin. The kid drew himself up. "I am Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon's Head. You stand between me and my prey."

"Robin isn't your prey," Batgirl growled.

"Not _him_. His target. The chaos lord. I require his location." He paused. "I suppose in exchange I could let you live."

"What a tempting deal," Robin muttered through gritted teeth. He was trying to keep pressure on the wound steady, but it _hurt_ , and he wasn't sure it was stopping the blood flow.

"Not happening, short stuff," Batgirl said. "But tell me more about this heir business."

"You wish to negotiate an exchange of information?"

"I wish to know how hard I should be trying to take you into custody. Robin, status?"

"Perforated. Watch it, Batgirl, he's—"

Attacking, was what he was. Damian flew at Batgirl, sword glimmering in the moonlight as it sliced in and out. Batgirl was forced to move away from Robin to dodge, but she drew Damian with her. It took all of her attention to avoid the blade, and even then she ended up with several cuts and slices to her suit. Robin rolled to his side with a groan, fumbling at his utility belt. He knew he had— there.

"Batgirl, homefront!" he called. Batgirl immediately held her breath since she couldn't get to her respirator. Robin flung the tiny aerosol canister. It erupted into knockout gas; it wouldn't be terribly effective in such an open area, but it might buy them the time they needed to run. Because Robin was pretty sure this was a running situation.

Damian stumbled out of the cloud of smoke, shaking his head slightly, not nearly as groggy as Robin would have liked. Robin struggled to his knees, then to his feet. Batgirl was at his side in a moment. "The plane?"

"No good. Your bike?"

"Can you hang on?"

"I'll have to." Robin locked the Batplane down with the controls built into his suit as Batgirl half-carried him to the bike and practically tossed him onto it. Behind them, Damian hissed and flung a dagger. It clattered off one of the bike's armor plates and did no damage.

"Ready?" Batgirl asked. He wrapped his arms around her and held on as best he could as she kicked off and they sailed away into the night. Why did _everything_ have to require abdominal muscles? He groaned against Batgirl's back.

"Hang in there," Batgirl said. "It's not far."

"How'd you… drive to Portugal?" Robin asked.

"Zeta tube, dummy. Seriously, stealing the Batplane. So flashy."

"Zeta tubes leave records."

"So does planning your flight path on my rig. I taught you half of what you know, birdbrain," she said.

"Whatever. Is the tiny assassin following us?"

"Not that I know of," Batgirl replied.

"Good. We're going to Italy."

"That's the blood loss talking. We're going home."

Robin protested, but Batgirl ignored him, driving straight for the zeta point in Lisbon. She barely slowed on approaching it, which meant either Batman or the Justice League was ready for her. Robin wasn't sure which would be worse. A flash of light and they were through, skidding to a halt in the Batcave. Robin wondered if being stabbed was enough to get him out of explaining how he'd lost a Batplane.

Based on the look on Bruce's face, he'd guess no.

 

 


	10. A Hidden Light Compound: ~3.5 Years Ago

**A Hidden Light Compound  
_Approximately 3 and a Half Years Ago_**

Dick was vaguely aware of an awful lot of background noise. Yelling. Arguing. His body was jostled. He focused on it long enough to make sure his blood didn’t splatter anywhere it wasn’t supposed to – just a few drops, a token offering to open channels of communication, Klarion had said. It had done that.

_You seek power._

Klarion had called it a demon. Dick wasn’t sure he agreed. He’d seen demons, mainly in Batman’s files on Constantine and Jason Blood. This was more like… a black hole. A galaxy. Both.

“I seek freedom,” Dick corrected.

_Then take it from those who have stolen it._

“I can’t,” Dick said.

_Then you seek power._

“Fine, I seek power. Word is you can help with that.”

_Do you swear to further the ideals of Chaos? To sow discord and mischief? To oppose Order?_

Dick hesitated, but only briefly. “What’s an oath to a chaos lord?”

The being pulsed and Dick felt it behind his lungs. It was laughing. _A fine answer. Take your power, lordling, and let worlds know you have done so._

 

“Klarion, you fool. What have you done?” Ra’s demanded. Dick blinked blearily and the backs of Klarion's legs came into focus. Then a pale, whiskered nose shoved itself in his face and Teekl purred happily. Dick pushed her away so that he could see what was happening, but quickly closed his eyes again. It was too _much_. Everyone – and his cell was packed with a lot of people now – had an extra outline of themselves, standing in slightly different positions, as though they were all limned in possibilities.

“I didn’t do anything!” Klarion protested. He was standing between Dick and Ra’s, Savage, and Deathstroke. Dick pressed his head to the floor. “He did it himself!” His eyes were burning, sending spikes of pain backward into his brain, or maybe it was the other way around. He groaned and pressed one hand over them.

“We can argue fault later. We just need to contain him. Deathstroke—”

“No,” Dick said quietly. He dropped his hand from his face and rose slowly, looming behind Klarion. “I’m done being _contained_.”

Fire poured from his eyes down his face and the room went pitch black. Dick reached out and spooled the darkness around his wrist, letting it climb him, crawl over his skin, finding a new instinct that made it simple as sneezing. He threw back his head and laughed at the sensation and the darkness poured into his mouth, down his throat. It was hot, but not scalding; a cleansing heat that he welcomed to burn out every last trace of other peoples’ hands on his mind, on his body.

When he could see again, the room was empty but for Klarion and Teekl. Dick felt the familiar comfort of armored fabric hugging his body, the sturdy soles of boots, the slight weight of a mask. His hands were encased in black gauntlets, escrima sticks at his thigh.

Klarion was grinning at him.

“Well that was dramatic. Well done. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

“No we’re not,” Dick said. Power hummed under his skin, like adrenaline. It needed an outlet. And Dick needed to be _free_.

As soon as he thought it, he vanished from the room and blinked into existence in the air high above an ugly, flat bunker of a building. He knew that was where he’d been held, as though he could see his path of travel like a jet engine’s exhaust trail. He immediately analyzed the layout, the surroundings, because Batman would want—

Sharp pain in his head made him falter, made him plummet several feet before he caught himself. _Forget Batman, forget your plans, they made you_ suffer _. What do you feel like doing?_

A snarl curled across Dick’s face and he let his power fly. It wasn’t visible, what he did, just a raw explosion of hatred aimed at the building far below. It _atomized_. The ground around it cratered and any foliage collapsed under its own weight, tiny neutron stars birthing and dying in the core of every blade of grass and leaf in the vicinity.

Dick stared. There was nothing left. _Nothing_. Had he just—

Then he realized. The plant life. The warm air around him. He could _feel_ the stars wheeling overhead behind the sunlit sky. It was late spring. He’d been in that _hole_ for—

A meteorite crashed into the crater and Dick felt vicious satisfaction.

“ _Wow_ ,” said Klarion, suddenly hovering near him. Teekl echoed the sentiment with a low _mow_. “That is a _lot_ of power. I mean, where did that meteorite even _come_ from? Did you just squash those old guys, too?”

Dick looked down, suddenly alarmed. There was no trace of human life where the compound had once been, but then, there wouldn’t be. He’d been… thorough. “I didn’t…”

“Oh, nope, looks like Deathstroke hauled them off in time,” Klarion said, pointing to a tiny speck of an aircraft in the distance, which was rapidly getting smaller. “I mean, not that that could stop you now, right?”

“Right,” Dick growled. Then, “No. Wait. This isn’t—I can’t. I can’t _think_. Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

Klarion exchanged a look with Teekl. “You better come with me.” He reached out, but Dick darted away.

“I’m not going anywhere with you or anyone else.”

Klarion’s smile spread. “Oh yeah?”

Gravity increased suddenly and Dick found himself clawing at the air to stay aloft. He lost the fight and went plummeting to the ground, making a small crater of his own. To his surprise, it only hurt. He was still able to move.

“Pathetic,” Klarion said, descending much more slowly. “Still thinking physics matters. You’re on your home plane. There’s no way I should be able to take you, and yet…” He snapped his fingers and gravity vanished, but only for Dick. He stopped himself before he could shoot off the surface of the planet, though, and kept his footing with a monumental effort of will. If Klarion wanted a fight, fine. He knew how to fight him.

Batarangs appeared in his hand and he flung them at Teekl, who only dodged disdainfully. Klarion scowled at him. “What a waste of power.”

“You want power? I’ll _unmake you_ ,” Dick snapped at him, and suddenly he knew exactly how to do that. He knew just how to tug on the thread holding Klarion and Teekl to this world, to sever the one leading back to their own plane, to keep pulling and unravel Klarion like a sweater.

He did not realize how even these extra-dimensional threads were wound around others in his own universe. But he did wonder why Klarion was still grinning.

Then the world glitched. Hiccupped. Just for a second, the sky blinked black and the ground went choppy and then snapped back and Dick’s mind did the same. He dropped his hold on the magic, shaken.

“A _lot_ of power,” Klarion repeated. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you use it.” Klarion’s shadow stretched out and swallowed Dick.

 

Dick went mad in self-defense. Or maybe it was inevitable. Klarion wrapped him in a shadow and Teekl purred to him all the way to wherever they were going; a hideaway where they could get a handle on Dick’s power, Klarion said. Dick knew he meant where _Klarion_ could get a handle on Dick’s power. When he saw that it was a room with no doors, when he felt that it was a dimension not his own, he broke.

Chaos howled out of him. He didn’t know what he did, or for how long, but when he clawed his way toward lucidity – what passed for lucidity – he saw that the walls had been gouged, the ceiling cracked to show a formless void beyond. An escape? Dick launched himself through the crack before thinking about it, only to realize that the crack was actually in _him_ and he was falling into himself, over and over, a well with no bottom, a mirror reflecting itself. He reached for that boundless power he’d touched before, thinking to brute-force himself out if nothing else would work, but every time he considered it the world shivered alarmingly again and he shrank back.

Sometimes Klarion was there, falling next to him. “Unstable,” he said, with the air of a doctor giving a diagnosis. “If only you weren’t alone in the multiverse.”

Dick laughed, and that felt good, so he kept laughing. Klarion laughed with him, and Teekl sniffed in boredom and stalked off among swirling eddies of color that drifted languidly through the abyss Dick occupied. Dick reached out a hand and let his fingers trail lazily through a strawberry-red arabesque of light. It smelled like music.

“Stop that,” Klarion said crossly.

Dick grabbed him by the ankle as he drifted by. “How?”

Klarion considered. Then he reached out and tweaked a turquoise ribbon, yanking it into a yellow one so that they flared bright green.

Dick crashed to the floor. “Oh,” he said.

“Welcome to my workshop pocket.”

This room also had no doors and no windows, but at least it was furnished. A sturdy table had fresh scorch marks on it that matched the copper smudges on Klarion’s fingertips. He’d been working on something recently. There were also shelves and shelves of interesting artifacts, but Dick was eyeing the walls. He could see the way out. His mind quested out tentatively, probing.

“Careful,” Klarion said, though the way he smiled said he hoped Dick wouldn’t listen. “Wouldn’t want to unravel the universe.”

“Explain that,” Dick demanded.

“Make me.”

Thus started the first of many fights between the two of them. Dick quickly learned how much he could pull on his power before things started to get unstable. He preferred to use his previous training as much as possible, simply augmented slightly with his new abilities, but Klarion found that boring and Dick found that thinking linearly gave him headaches. When he slipped and lost his temper or gave in to the impulses roiling in his mind, Klarion would reach out and _twist_ some thread of power and Dick would feel himself cut off suddenly, like all the air had gone out of the room.

If there was even air in the room to begin with. Dick wasn’t clear on that. Sometimes, when he tried to figure out exactly how pocket dimensions worked and whether he could create his own, he slipped back into that vague, nebulous state that probably anyone sane would have to call madness. Klarion usually tugged him out of it before too long, claiming that Dick was boring just hovering there.

 

When he got tired of fighting Dick – or maybe when he’d figured out enough about manipulating Dick – Klarion took him from the pocket dimension. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed Dick by the arm and pulled them through space and not-space, and then they were out.

They were on Dick’s home plane. He glanced around hopefully but… it wasn’t Earth.

“Look at this place,” Klarion said in disgust, kicking at a frosted crystal jutting from the ground. It was one of millions, all growing upward in an intensely uniform lattice. Teekl prowled around, hopping from one plateau to another. “It’s offensive.”

“That’s just how crystals grow,” Dick said. He was already figuring out which direction Earth was. He was pretty sure he could teleport there without breaking anything. Being on this plane meant he was more stable than anywhere else and could likely get away with all but the most excessive displays of power.

“We can do better.”

“We?”

“I’m going to make some improvements. If it doesn’t work, you’re going to blow the place up.”

“…why?”

“This planet has belonged to Order for centuries. And look at it. No life, no nothing.”

“It’s kind of pretty.”

Klarion hissed at him, the sound causing Teekl to leap back to them with alacrity, looking around for trouble. Dick put his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, you don’t like it. Why don’t you make your improvements and I’ll wait right here until you need me.”

Klarion huffed. “Glad you’re seeing sense.” He turned from Dick to examine the crystals more closely, running a finger up and down one of them and frowning at what he sensed. It wasn’t long before he was wandering among them, searching for some weak spot to dig in. Or maybe just admiring the scenery. Dick didn’t know or care. He waited until Klarion was engrossed, then tipped himself into a folded pocket of space just as he’d seen Klarion do to bring him here.

He emerged on Earth, somewhere in the western hemisphere. It was night, and warm, and there was nothing between him and the sky. He could sense Gotham, calling to him like a beacon somewhere to his right. But he had unfinished business to attend to elsewhere first.

 

 


	11. Southern Italy: Now

**Southern Italy  
_Now_**

Jason was drowning in a pool of green. It burned like acid and when he screamed it burned his insides, too. He thrashed and flailed and fought to the surface, clawing his way onto a rocky shore, gasping in cold air. A hand reached out of the darkness, grasped him under the chin and turned his face upward. "Shall we try that again?" Nightwing asked and shoved Jason back into the Pit, holding his head under. Jason grabbed at his wrist and fought with everything he had, finally pulling Nightwing in after him.

The glowing waters engulfed them both and Jason went for Nightwing's throat, taking it in both hands and squeezing while Nightwing laughed at him.

"Good," said Talia from over his shoulder. "This is the only way to progress."

Nightwing's face was suddenly older, harsher, craggy and weather-worn. It was the face of Jason's first "instructor" under Talia's care, this one an expert in an obscure form of unarmed combat. Jason was strangling him on the stone floor of the training space where he was taught – beaten – day after day. Jason let go and fell back.

"No," he said, just as he'd said then. "I won't."

"Then you haven't learned enough."

The man rolled to his feet and struck out at Jason, sending him crashing to the ground and then putting a foot to Jason's throat and pressing down. Jason grabbed at his ankle, but he was immovable. Jason felt the Pit reaching for him, a sort of berserker rage, and he snarled – and then pushed it away, stopped fighting his teacher. Better to let this guy knock him out than to give in to the Pit; he didn't know what he might do in his rage, while he did know that Talia wouldn't allow him to actually die at this man's hands.

"No," the man grunted. Jason never had learned his name. "You don't get to take the easy way out." The foot lifted from his throat and applied itself to Jason's ribcage instead, once, sharply, then again. "Up." When Jason didn't comply fast enough, the man barked an order to the Shadows always lining the periphery, watching. One of them came forward, dragged Jason up and hooked him under the arms, pulling them up and back, forcing him to expose his torso to the instructor. "Learn your lesson, boy."

Fists struck one after the other in rapid succession, followed by a kick. Jason recognized the kata and braced himself; it would only get more painful from here.

Then a spray of shadow overtook the instructor from behind, wrapping around his wrists and halting his fists mid-flight. Nightwing stepped out of nowhere and put a hand on the man's head. Darkness poured forth and engulfed him, flowing down over his eyes, into his mouth, down his throat and over the rest of his body. It melted away into the ground and the man was gone. The Shadow holding Jason vanished, too, and then he was surrounded by featureless black, facing off against Nightwing yet again.

"Is this what you went through?" Nightwing asked. "Is this a memory or a dream?"

Jason shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Doesn't matter. Hurts the same."

"Little wing," Nightwing said, stepping forward with a hand outstretched like he was going to touch Jason's face. Jason stepped back, fully expecting to fall through the blackness into some other nightmare. Nightwing sighed. "Wake up. You don't have to stay here."

"If it was that simple—"

Then it was Batman in front of him. " _Wake up_."

Jason woke up.

"Welcome back," Dick said, crouching over him. Jason jerked, smacking his head against the wall. He was still in the corner of the bedroom where he'd fallen asleep. "Sorry for popping in without warning, but you looked like you could use the interruption."

Jason's eyes shot to the glowstone. Still on the window ledge. Still glowing. His frantic heart slowed a little. "What do you want?" he asked Dick.

"The same thing you do. A little sanity. A little stability."

"You don't know a damn thing about what I want."

Dick leaned back and folded his legs under him. "All right then. What do you want?"

"For you to let me go."

"I can't send you out into the world like this, Jay. I know a thing or two about messes, and you are a mess."

Jason scowled. "Don't act like you're some kind of saint keeping me here for my own good. You want something from me, or you're planning to use me against Batman. Whatever you want to do, I can't fight you, but I'm sure as hell not going to cooperate."

"Still loyal to Bruce, huh? You know he replaced you, right?" Dick said, more viciously than he'd intended.

Jason scoffed. "Yeah, I know about that kid." Damian had told him and Jason's initial reaction had not been quite as calm. But he'd had a lot of time to think about it. "I feel sorry for him, and Bruce is an idiot for taking on another Robin while you're still running around."

Dick's mouth twisted into something like a smile, something like a grimace, something like guilt.

"Jesus," Jason said. "Don't tell me you went after the new kid, too. What the hell is wrong with you, Dick?"

"Nothing an anchor won't help," Dick said. "Think about it Jason. It could quiet the Pit in your head. Give you the power to take revenge on the people who've hurt you."

"You're at the top of that list, moron."

Dick stood abruptly. "Fine. I'm not going to force you. But think about my offer the next time the nightmares come."


	12. Chicago: ~3.5 Years Ago

**Chicago  
_Approximately 3 and a Half Years Ago_ **

For a temporary apartment he was only leasing for the duration of a job, Slade’s windows had pretty good security. That meant nothing, however, when someone with a grudge could simply teleport in. Dick coalesced from shadow and dropped onto Slade where he lay sleeping in bed.

He was met with a gun to the side of the head.

“You picked the wrong place to—oh, it’s you.”

“Rethinking the gun?” Dick asked, voice velvet. He was straddling Slade’s waist, pinning the blanket around his hips, holding an escrima stick under his throat.

“Not a chance. I’m betting it’ll at least slow you down.”

Dick smiled down at him and the gun suddenly became frictionless, dropping right out of Slade’s hand and skidding off the bed. “It might. Wouldn’t stop me from chasing you down later though, no matter where you ran.”

“All right,” Slade said. “What do you want?” He bared his teeth in a knowing grin. “Or is this a social call?”

Dick laughed. “Oh, I know you want me, Slade.” He canted his hips downward, a deliberately suggestive angle with just a hint of pressure behind it. He saw Slade’s attention sharpen; a little lust, sure, but far, far more wariness. “You absolutely cannot have me," Dick said, his voice somewhere between a growl and a purr. "But I can think of a few other ways we might have fun.” He moved the escrima stick from Slade’s throat, holding it where he could see it, and activated the electricity, giving it a little magical nudge to make it spark extra dramatically.

“Torture?” Slade raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't move an inch. “What would Batman say?”

Dick forgot the escrima stick for the moment and sent the electrical charge straight through the hand resting on Slade’s chest instead. Slade jerked, jaw going tight, until Dick lifted his hand. As soon as the current stopped, Slade surged up, twisting, clearly intending to topple Dick to the floor. It would have worked, had Dick not had access to a few extra resources. He simply refused to be moved, anchoring himself to the very atoms in the air.

“Down, boy,” Dick said, and shadows slithered up from under the bed, snaking across Slade’s chest and arms.

“So the Bat’s a touchy subject, huh?” Slade said, testing the bonds for any kind of give. If he was worried, he didn’t show it. The only sign that he'd been electrocuted and trapped was slightly heavier breathing. “That why the new look?”

Dick cocked his head. “What?”

Slade deliberately raked his eye down Dick’s torso and Dick looked down at himself. He frowned and touched his own chest lightly, trailing fingers across the fragments and scratches of blue scattered there, spreading over his shoulders. Slade laughed and Dick’s attention snapped back to him.

“You are really not okay, are you, kid?”

Dick snarled at him and the shadow ropes tightened. “Why do you think that is, Slade?” Tighter. “Any inkling?” Tighter still. “What on Earth might have driven me to do something like this, hmm?” Slade finally let out a grunt of pain and Dick stopped the shadows tightening any further. “I want answers.”

“Thought those were rhetorical questions,” Slade managed.

“I want answers about what was done to me. What I did.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have obliterated the base,” Slade said with a roll of his eye.

“There must be records.”

“Go torture Ra’s and Savage. I told you kid, I’m just the muscle,” Slade growled. Dick smiled and leaned down, running a finger down the front of Slade’s throat. The tip of his glove sharpened into a talon.

“And you didn’t keep anything? For – what did you call it – a personal souvenir?”

“Shit no, kid. I have an eidetic memory, why the hell would I keep evidence?”

Dick brushed the backs of his fingers up the sides of Slade’s face before thrusting them into his hair and gripping tightly. “And is that a memory you replay often?”

“You have a high opinion of yourself,” Slade said, not flinching from meeting Dick’s eyes.

“Then you won’t mind if I just take a look.”

“Kid—” Whatever Slade had been about to say was cut off as Dick fell into his mind. Klarion had done it to him often enough in the past months, and now he had the knowledge and power to reverse-engineer it. Dick was met with an assault of images and scenes, unspooling around him seemingly at random until he caught a glimpse of Slade dragging Ra’s and Savage away from their bunker and toward a plane. He followed that one back, back, through the months, searching for the blank periods in his own memory.

But Slade’s mind was closing around him, adapting to his intrusion. Steel doors slammed down as he pursued the line of thought, getting quicker and more forceful. That, however, wasn’t what finally pulled him from his search. Outside, in the real world, glass shattered. Dick snapped back to himself, saw the black cape and cowl before the glass had even finished falling to the floor, and _vanished._

 

Stakeouts, in Jason’s opinion, were boring. Batman would say that was a good thing, that boring was better than the alternative, but what did he know. Still, Jason wasn't complaining. He’d begged Batman to bring Robin along on this mission and Batman had relented only because he needed another pair of eyes to cover a blind angle on the building. Slade Wilson was worth the extra caution.

Robin wasn’t sure exactly why they were staking out Deathstroke’s current digs – according to intel, an unremarkable apartment in an unremarkable Chicago neighborhood – but he didn’t need to know why because if Slade came his direction he was going to stay out of sight and wait for Batman. At least, that was what he’d been told to do. He _did_ plan on obeying, because he wanted to know what this was about, but if something went wrong and he had an opportunity to jump in of course he was going to take it. Robin was supposed to be adaptable, right? Right.

For all that he was in for a boring night, Robin was practically humming with eagerness as Batman parked the plane a safe distance from the target and the two of them shot out over the skyline of Chicago. But as they approached the building, Batman stopped him before he could peel off for his own vantage point.

“What?” Robin asked.

Batman crouched behind the ledge of the neighboring building, peering down at Slade's apartment. Robin did the same, lenses in his mask zooming and focusing. “Unknown factor,” Batman said.

“Slade has a guest? Oh, Slade has a _guest_.” The apartment was dark, so they couldn’t make out details, but the bedroom window wasn't covered and there was definitely more than one person in that bed, and one of them was definitely astride the other. “Is he… tied down? Kinky,” Robin said.

Batman didn’t answer and Robin glanced over at him. He was intent on the scene below. Robin frowned and looked back, wondering what he’d missed. On closer inspection, it appeared the two men weren’t actually doing anything like what he originally assumed. For one thing, there was a blanket between them. For another, though the smaller figure on top was definitely cradling the other’s face, neither was moving. Robin guessed the one tied down was Slade, which made the one on top – all Robin could make out was dark hair and general build – pretty dangerous.

Batman took off without warning, swinging down straight to Slade’s window. Robin was surprised, but only a moment behind him, sailing through the broken frame right after Batman shattered it. He missed what happened to the other figure who'd been in the room, but Slade was rolling from the bed and came up with two handguns, one aimed at each of them. Batman stared him down, spreading his cape just slightly to give Robin more cover. Robin assessed the body language and tension in the room, then smirked and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Sorry for interrupting date night,” he said.

“It wasn’t going so well anyway,” Slade replied easily. “Though,” he said, addressing Batman, “at least your oldest had the manners not to void my security deposit.”

Robin’s eyebrows went up and he glanced to Batman surreptitiously. Was he trying to imply Nightwing had been here just now? He couldn't be. Nightwing was on a deep cover mission in Indonesia; they’d know if he’d come back.

“Robin, wait outside,” Batman ordered.

“But—“

“Now.”

He thought about arguing further for about half a second, then shrugged like he had no problem whatsoever leaving Batman alone with a deadly mercenary. He climbed carefully through the remains of the window and grappled over to the adjacent building to watch from a distance.

 

It had been a gut reaction, instinctive. Dick had rabbited, reappearing three buildings away and breathing heavily. Why had he run? Batman was safety, was home, was help. So why… _Maybe because he found you in the middle of torturing someone?_

Dick shook his head, trying to sort through what he was feeling. Some anger, some guilt, some worry that he hadn’t _actually_ seen Batman just then…

“ _There_ you are!” Klarion exclaimed, appearing next to him. “You ditched me.”

Dick skipped backward, readying a defense. “You don’t get to just drag me around wherever you want to go, Klarion,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“Um, I’m sorry, what? How about a little gratitude,” Klarion huffed. “If it wasn’t for me you’d still be gathering moss in the Light’s basement!”

“If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have been in that mess in the first place,” Dick reminded him. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Good thing I’m not about fair play, then,” Klarion said happily. Dick felt Klarion's power snaking out, trying to wrap around him, and rejected it with a sharp snap of his own. Klarion licked his lips. "This will be fun."

 

Robin almost flew back over to the apartment when Batman and Slade threw themselves at each other, but the fight – if that’s what it was – ended almost before it started, with Slade backed against a wall. Batman’s cape hid the details, but based on what Robin had read of Slade in Batman’s files, he’d be surprised if Slade didn’t have some kind of weapon pressed against Batman’s stomach in exchange for the arm across his throat. He fidgeted, unsure about interfering in a potentially delicate encounter, but then Batman broke away and was out the window and up the side of the building, no more than a shadow against the brick. Robin joined him, running alongside him in silence across rooftops all the way back to the plane.

When the hatch hissed closed, though, he was out of patience.

“So?” he asked. “What was that about?”

“Information gathering.”

“Is it about Nightwing’s thing in Indonesia?”

A few moments of silence. When Batman spoke, his tone was carefully flat. “Nightwing isn’t in Indonesia.”

“Wait, was that actually him in Slade’s apartment? Why wouldn’t he tell us he was back? And where did he _go_ after we crashed the party?”

“Walk me through what you observed,” Batman said.

Robin considered. “Well, we saw two people in that room. Slade was tied down, I’m pretty sure. But by the time I got there, Slade was still in bed but whoever else was there was gone. No way Nightwing’s that much faster than Deathstroke, right?” Robin really hoped not. He had enough to live up to as it was. “And – whatever was holding Slade down was gone, too. Had to be a meta-human of some kind, or a magic user, right?”

“A reasonable conclusion. Well done.”

Robin grinned, feeling his chest expand with the praise. But then—“Wait. What does that have to do with Nightwing, then? What Slade said – maybe he just _thought_ it was Nightwing in his apartment?”

“Maybe,” Batman allowed.

“But you don’t think so. You think Nightwing lied to us about the mission he was on?” Robin thought about it. He’d been in the cave when the last video call had come through, Nightwing checking in, assuring them that everything was fine. He’d seemed all right, had responded correctly when Batman had dropped coded phrases into the conversation. But maybe for all the time he’d spent studying Nightwing, comparing himself to him (being compared to him), Robin didn’t know him well enough.

“I’m… not sure,” Batman eventually replied.

Well _this_ was an event. Robin resisted the urge to take a photo to commemorate the day, mark it on the calendar, or otherwise give such a statement the attention it deserved. He’d settle for telling Alfred later. “Okay,” he said. “So did you get the answers you needed from Slade?”

“I got answers. Whether or not they’re the truth is another question.”

“You gonna share? Not that I’m not enjoying Twenty Questions, but we’re almost home.”

“If what Slade told me is true I’ll be able to find other evidence, but there’s a risk of confirmation bias now. I’ll need you to independently confirm – or refute – what I’m seeing.”

Curiosity warred with pride – Batman _needed_ him, and had said so – as they touched down at the Cave. “Sure,” Robin said. “You got it.”

“And Jason,” Batman said as Robin was about to hop down from the plane. “Don’t mention this to the League or the Team.”

Robin snorted. “Sure, because I see them so often.” He paused. “Batgirl?”

Batman shook his head. “I'll tell her what she needs to know. But if you see Nightwing…” Batman paused, clearly deciding how much was too much to say. “If you see him, call me immediately.”

 

Klarion and Dick fought, clashing across the rooftops of Chicago, until Dick was finally pressed hard enough to try something drastic. As always, the threat of unmaking the world stopped him and Klarion stepped in and pulled him away, across galaxies and back to the crystal planet – which looked remarkably unchanged.

“Nice job redecorating,” Dick said, shoving away from Klarion.

“Shut up. It’s your turn.”

“I’m not blowing up a planet. I’m not on your side, Klarion, I didn’t swear any oath to Chaos, and I’m not about to pick a fight with the Lords of Order.”

Klarion narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m doing this for _you,_ you know.” Then Teekl sprang from behind Dick, digging her claws into his shoulders, just as Klarion thrust a hand into his chest. _Through_ his chest. Dick gasped, choking on nothing as Klarion said _something_ in a language Dick couldn’t understand. He shook his head, vision tunneling, and tried to hang on to the chaos crashing around inside of him, but it was like climbing a sand dune; he fell back one step, then two, then the whole thing gave way and he was buried in an avalanche of darkness, gasping for air he technically no longer needed.

He woke up back in Klarion’s pocket dimension, his head in Klarion’s lap and Teekl curled on his chest, purring happily.

“That was beautiful,” Klarion said.

“What… did I do?” Dick asked, terrified to hear the answer but needing to know.

“What you’re made to.”

 


	13. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Bruce didn't say a word until after Tim's wound had been cared for, and that was somehow worse than the few stitches it needed. Damian al Ghul's knife hadn't hit anything major and the costume had done a bit to slow down the strike. When Tim was bandaged up and Alfred and Barbara had discreetly wandered off to another portion of the cave, Bruce uncrossed his arms. Tim braced himself.

"I seem to recall you having something to say about me trying to do things all by myself not too long ago," Bruce said. He was half-dressed for patrol, body armor mostly applied but cape, cowl, and gauntlets absent.

"I had to move fast. The way he can jump around, if I delayed at all he'd be gone by the time—"

"You were deliberately trying to encounter Nightwing. After you promised me you'd stick to research." Bruce pressed his fingers between his eyebrows. "Tim, what if you had actually found him?"

Tim didn't point out that he'd never technically _promised_ anything. He didn't think Bruce would appreciate it. "We have a way of containing him now. What I don't understand is why you _aren't_ going after him! Didn't you see the same activity I did?"

"Yes, and we'll talk about your habit of bypassing clearance restrictions later. I sent Doctor Fate to Italy as soon as Nightwing pinged our radar."

"You sent someone else to investigate?" Tim asked in disbelief.

"You're more important." Tim blinked at him, the words not quite clicking. Bruce sighed and sat in the chair Alfred had been using to tend to Tim. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I knew you'd find out Nightwing had been active again soon enough. I thought I should be here, near you, just in case. When I couldn't find you and the plane was missing… I was worried, Tim."

"The plane's fine. I left it locked down in Portugal."

"I know," Bruce said. "I sent Barbara after you in case it was a feint to distract me, and in case Doctor Fate turned up back here with Nightwing. I'm glad you're both back relatively intact." He stood and put a hand on Tim's shoulder. "You're benched from patrol, obviously."

"But—"

"You can't move without pulling your stitches. You can use the time to write up your report on exactly what happened."

"It was the League of Assassins, Bruce," Barbara said, sensing the lecture part of the conversation was over and rejoining them. "Someone calling himself Ra's al Ghul's heir." Bruce looked at her sharply.

"Describe him."

"A kid. I dunno, this old?" Barbara put her hand out over the ground at about Damian's height. "He was good, though. Scary good."

Bruce frowned. For a moment, he'd thought… with Ra's involved… and Nightwing… if it had happened in another universe, then why not here. But a child?

"He called himself Damian al Ghul," Tim added.

"I really hope Ra's didn't manage to get someone pregnant," Barbara put in. "And that is really a thought I never needed to have, ever."

"Hm," Bruce said. "If Ra's is sticking his head out of whatever hole he's buried himself in at the same time Nightwing turns up after months of quiet... Maybe Nightwing's after revenge. Maybe Ra's is feeling threatened. Possibly we can use that to draw Nightwing out. Let's see what Fate discovers in Italy, and then the four of us can plan our next move."

Tim looked up, surprised to be included. Bruce hid a small smile and turned away to finish preparing for the evening's work. Barbara nudged Tim – carefully.

"You good? He wasn't too hard on you?"

"No, I guess not."

"You're welcome for the rescue, by the way."

Tim winced. "Yeah, sorry. I… I thought I could go after Nightwing, but one single assassin almost got me? I guess Bruce was right to worry."

Barbara considered Tim for a few moments. He looked utterly miserable. She didn't think it was just the pain, either. "Bruce would worry even if you were indestructible and could shoot lasers out of your eyes," she assured him. Tim gave her a skeptical look. "Did you know he wasn't even in the city when Jason died?" she asked.

"Uh… no, I didn't," Tim said, a little surprised that she'd brought it up. He remembered that night very clearly, remembered the strange phenomena that had been spotted around Crime Alley. And he remembered Batman appearing without Robin over the course of the next few days, hammering down on any criminal he caught with the ferocity of a demon. Tim hadn't known then what had happened to Robin, but he'd known something was wrong. He'd tried to do something about it.

It hadn't gone well.

"He was away chasing Nightwing and the Light. He'd left the city to us. It was like that for a while, so much of it falling on Jason's shoulders because I was with the Team or the League. Bruce regrets it. I can see it in every move he makes. He doesn't want to make the same mistakes with you."

"Well, third time's the charm, I guess," Tim said.

"Hey. You're your own bird," Barbara said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "You've got strengths Dick and Jason never did. Don't let Bruce's neuroses tangle you up."

Tim gave a small smile. "Thanks Babs. I'm lucky you were there tonight."

"And I always will be. Us techie bats gotta stick together, right?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "No, sorry is what you'll be if you pull something like this again. I mean, sneaking around Bruce kinda comes with the territory but you have to at least tell _me_ when you're planning a planejacking. I got your back, birdie."

This time Tim's smile was a little wider. "I'll keep that in mind."

 


	14. A Pocket Dimension: ~3.5 Years Ago

**A Pocket Dimension  
_Approximately 3 and a Half Years Ago_**

After the disaster of the crystal planet, Dick slipped back into the fugue that had gripped him when he'd first gained his powers. He faded away into the darkness on the floor of Klarion's workshop and drifted…

Until he suddenly came awake in a familiar, sterile hallway. For a moment, panic seized him. He'd never escaped, this had all been one more prolonged experiment—

Then he realized he was looking at himself: shirtless, thin, deep smudges under his eyes, clearly desperate and even more clearly drugged, facing off against Slade with a last-ditch bluff and then a painfully short fight that ended with him tossed back into a room with an IV stand and a cot, and Slade locking the door behind him.

But Dick was still on Slade's side of the door now, watching, completely invisible. He saw Slade shake his head, then touch a com device in his ear to report that the "subject" was awake. Dick approached him and waved a hand in front of his face, just in case. Nothing changed.

A memory. He was in Slade's memory. Whether he had some kind of connection to Slade's mind still, or had stolen the memories, or had made copies of them, or something else entirely, he didn't know. But he did know that now, finally, he'd have answers.

What else could he see? He concentrated and could feel the floating darkness around him through the walls of the memory. He backed out and looked around, finding himself surrounded by snapshots of color, windows he could look through or climb through. He drifted among them, glancing into each.

Many were things he remembered living through. Others were simple trials. He watched himself collared and guided to an office, given simple instructions until he ran into one he couldn't follow. He saw himself choke on food when instructed to eat, gag reflex fighting with the automatic action of swallowing. Most of it was embarrassing, but not particularly harmful (he had not, for example, been sent to assassinate any diplomats or start any international incidents), and much of it he'd already deduced, like the early combat tests with Deathstroke that he'd completely slept through while someone else puppeted his body.

Then he came to a window that made him stop cold. He was sitting in front of a computer, dressed as Nightwing, opening up a line to the Batcave. Dick pulled himself through the frame of the memory, dropping into an observation room where Deathstroke stood with Ra's and Vandal Savage watching Nightwing.

"If this goes wrong, I won't be fast enough to prevent Batman from figuring some things out," Deathstroke warned them.

"If he speaks one syllable out of place, we can terminate the connection from here," Ra's said. "We cannot be in the room with him, even out of sight of the camera. The Detective may analyze the feed later and detect our breathing, a shadow may fall out of place… this is less risky."

In the other room, Nightwing entered temporary, one-time use security keys to contact the Cave. A helpful Shadow made notes of everything, but that wouldn't do them any good. These codes were for any time one of them had to use non-League equipment in the field. They expired immediately after being entered.

Watching himself, Dick nearly sobbed in frustration when Batman's image flickered onscreen and Batman demanded a status report. He saw himself _reassure_ Batman that he was fine, just on an undercover mission, he was sorry for not telling him but it had come up suddenly and hadn't the Team gotten his note? They had, but at the point Nightwing (read: Ra's) had sent it, Nightwing had already been gone for weeks, apparently after a confrontation with the Joker. The Team had been frantic enough to ask the League for help.

Batman was not happy, and clearly suspicious. He casually dropped pass phrases into the conversation, codes to find out if Nightwing was injured, if he was communicating under duress, but Nightwing blithely answered each. It sounded just slightly stilted to Dick's ears, and he thought his breathing rate might be abnormally elevated, but maybe he only saw it because he was looking for it. When had this been? How far into his captivity?

Had Batman ever been coming for him at all?

Dick fled that memory and tore through the rest. He'd contacted Batman one other time, and the Team twice, each time easily carrying on a conversation with whoever answered. Afterward, when the connection was cut, Deathstroke would enter the room and Nightwing would jump to his feet, surprised but ready to fight until Deathstroke said the code phrase – _safety net –_ and Nightwing collapsed, ready to be stripped of his costume and deposited back in his cell.

Dick tried to punch Deathstroke more than once, watching these scenes, but of course it was completely ineffective. He hoped he'd ripped these memories right out of Slade's head.

"Hey," a voice called distantly. Klarion.

"Leave me alone," Dick muttered, turning back to the other memories to see if there were any more he hadn't seen. He was definitely missing a few black-out periods so whatever he'd done to access Slade's memories, it had been incomplete.

"Whatever you're doing in that head of yours, quit it!" Klarion insisted, his voice becoming clearer. "You're upsetting Teekl."

Then several bright, sharp points of pain burst to life along Dick's thigh and he crashed back to himself with a start – and crashed to the floor as well. Apparently he'd been hovering. Teekl was in his lap, her fur standing on end and her front claws digging into his leg.

"That's better," Klarion said, turning back to his worktable. He pulled an ancient, leather-bound book from nowhere, his hand vanishing briefly as he reached into a fold in space to retrieve it. "Keep it down over there. I'm working on our next adventure."

Dick didn't answer. He was staring at the cat in his lap, who had settled firmly in place now that he'd stopped doing whatever had been making her uncomfortable. He could see the bond between her and Klarion – or, maybe "see" wasn't the right word. He could feel it, somehow, kind of saw how it worked to stabilize both Klarion and Teekl… he was tempted to just take Teekl and fall right out of this pocket dimension to Earth, test how that strained their bond. And because there was chaos sparkling in his veins, the temptation was enough. He picked Teekl up and leapt to Earth.

He hadn't really been paying attention so he wasn't sure exactly where they ended up – some suburban street. The street signs were in English. That was all he had time to notice before Teekl howled in protest and slashed at his face. Dick dropped her and teleported away, thinking that Klarion would have to take time to stop and pick her up, so he'd have time to— to what? Appear in Gotham and bring Klarion in his wake? Maybe it would be better to go to the Watchtower, or even to try to find Fate's tower.

His indecisiveness spit him out in Iowa, though he had no idea why. There wasn't time to figure it out. Klarion crashed into his back a second later, driving him to the ground in the middle of a cornfield.

"That was rude," Klarion said. Teekl, trailing in his wake, murmured her agreement.

"Just a little experiment," Dick replied. He rolled to his feet and faced Klarion, edging away, keeping one eye on the cat.

"You don't need to experiment, pet. That's what _I'm_ here for. To show you how to use your power." The stalks of corn around Dick mutated, growing long green tendrils to grab at him. He glared at them so hard they decayed into dust.

"You're a crap teacher, Klarion."

"I'm the only one you've got, Witchwing."

Dick stopped cold. "That's… don't call me that."

"Why not? You're obviously not Nightwing anymore, and we're a pair now." Klarion smiled and held a hand out. "Come home."

Dick wanted to vomit. "We're not a pair. I _have_ a home, and it's not with you!" The stalks around him flattened outward, as though a strong wind had blasted through.

"Where, then?" Klarion hissed. "With that overgrown Bat in Gotham? What makes you think the League won't just lock you up when they see what you are? Fate will force them to. He won't be able to do anything else. Face it, you became an outlaw the second you took that power."

"They wouldn't do that to me, and even if they would I'd choose that over spending another second with you." Dick sent a wedge of power slicing between Klarion and Teekl, forcing them apart. The same rules applied; damage the cat, and Klarion would take off.

But Teekl and Klarion double-teamed him, working as one. Teekl morphed into her monstrous form and the two of them almost immediately put him on the defensive. Had anyone been monitoring those fields at the time, they would have witnessed a number of alarming things: the beginnings of a mushroom cloud that suddenly retracted on itself, a dome resembling a giant soap bubble that popped with a sound like the ocean, the unearthly screeching of a pissed off cat, a permeating smell of lilacs, and the flight of every field mouse and spider from the general vicinity.

When it was done, though, all that was left was a strange pattern of tramped down, bent, and broken cornstalks and the delicate silence of a sky that had almost cracked, a world that had almost come undone.

 


	15. Southern Italy: Now

**Southern Italy  
_Now_**

Jason wasn't sure where Dick had gone after pulling him out of his nightmares, but he did think about Dick's offer. Jason had gotten very good at putting up a stubborn wall over the past few years, at deflecting and rejecting and refusing to cooperate and generally making life hard for the people who made _his_ life hard. He usually paid for it in one way or another, and in this case… he really did consider what Dick was offering.

Not out of a desire for power; more out of a desire to not get dead again. So he stayed in the bedroom, tense and waiting for a chaos lord to return, and thought about becoming his murderer's anchor.

He came to the conclusion that he'd rather die.

He took apart the bed frame – it wasn't hard, it was just a series of metal posts slotted together – and began digging at the plaster around the window frame using one of the pieces. If he couldn't break the glass…

"Jason, stop." Dick's voice sounded weary.

"Fuck you," Jason said, not stopping.

"It's not even a real wall."

"It's between me and outside. That makes it real enough," Jason said. This was a lot easier when he didn't look at Dick, he found.

"That's why I included windows," Dick said. "So this wouldn't feel like a cage."

"You know what would help with that? Not holding people hostage in it."

Dick fidgeted. "I know you hate this. I would too. Ever since— even with all the power of the cosmos at my fingertips, I can't be in a confined space. Tied down, restricted. I can't."

Now Jason looked up from his fruitless labor, staring at Dick in disbelief. "Are you seriously telling me that you understand how I feel… and you're going to keep doing this anyway?"

"I _saved_ you," Dick said. "At least this isn't some dark cell."

Jason threw the metal rod at him. Dick caught it easily. "You're a piece of work," Jason said. "And I have met a lot of pieces of work over the past few years."

"Jason, if you only knew what you could become, what I've seen you do—"

"What does that even mean!" Jason exclaimed. "No, don't answer that, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything from you, and that includes when I'm asleep. Fuck off, Dick." He turned his back on him, every instinct shrieking at him not to do it. He waited for claws to sink into his back, for a nightmare to crash down around him, for Dick to break him, hurt him in some way.

He wasn't sure how long he stared at the wall waiting. But when he finally chanced a look back over his shoulder, Dick was gone.  

Dick seethed at the stars – _his_ stars, the ones that could be seen from planet Earth. He wondered briefly if they were different in that other dimension he'd visited, if that other version of himself appreciated being able to look at them without worrying whether he might send them spinning off their courses, wreaking celestial Armageddon. He wondered if that other version of Jason had ever gotten what he needed from Dick, from Bruce.

He wondered these things in part to keep the quiet voice in the back of his mind (the one that kept suggesting that Jason was _right_ ) distracted. But then he started wondering if maybe he should just pop over to that dimension again and see, maybe take his Jason with him or bring the other one back…

No. That had taken an appalling amount of energy, and if he used the same trick twice Fate would be on him before he took two breaths of interdimensional air. Speaking of which, he shouldn't stay here long. She'd notice. He turned from where he hovered in the sky, way above the cloud cover, and lowered himself slowly to Earth, to some small city randomly chosen. Where it was didn't matter; all cities had grocery stores and Dick might be annoyed with Jason right now but he wasn't so far gone that he'd forgotten humans need to eat.

 

Dick figured with all he'd done, a little theft was barely a drop in the bucket. But of course this would be what brought Doctor Fate down on him. He must have lingered too long with the stars (his concept of time was… shaky, these days) because as soon as he set foot on a quiet, snowy street, a golden chain shot through the air and nearly impaled him.

"You will not escape this time, Dick Grayson," Fate stated.

"Why does everything you say sound like you're reading a dictionary?" Dick wondered. He avoided a golden band Fate attempted to loop him with, but his dodge sent him right into a net of chains. He recoiled quickly enough that only his lower half was caught in it. Fate descended with a hand upraised to smite him, but he dragged his legs free of the net through sheer force of will. It tore at him and he felt like he'd left chunks of himself behind, but he got clear enough to roll away from Fate's next attack.

"Just leave me alone," Dick snarled.

"I cannot do that," Fate said, as though she'd actually considered it.

Dick glanced at the stars one more time, just to make sure they were staying put, and loosened his hold on his power.

Darkness howled down the street. Fate summoned small suns to beat it back. Ice formed on her helmet; Dick's skin blistered and burned. Fate's power surrounded him, silent and implacable, and Dick laughed, even as golden light tore through him and spears of darkness made Fate cry out in Zatanna's voice. He laughed even as his instinct to fight turned to flight and he desperately sought escape before his power could writhe out of his control. Further out of his control. Because the streetlights lining the road were twisting into iron arabesques, growing branches, their light turning to honey pouring down to the road in waterfalls. The street itself twisted and buckled and cracks gaped, and the stars above…

Dick couldn't see them anymore. He made a last, desperate twist of his power and hoped they were still there.


	16. Gotham: ~3.5 Years Ago

**Gotham  
_Approximately 3 and a Half Years Ago_**

For Jason, watching Batman over the next several weeks after their encounter with Slade was equal parts fascinating and frustrating. He spent hours in front of the Batcomputer, and then would rise at a moment's notice, sweep into a plane or car, and zip off into the night. If Jason was fast enough and simply jumped into the seat next to him, he got to go along, on which occasions he would witness Batman arriving in some unlikely location – urban, rural, suburban, there seemed to be no pattern – glancing around, maybe taking some readings on a device Jason didn't recognize, sometimes saying "Hm," and then getting back into whatever vehicle he'd brought and speeding back to the Batcave for more screen staring.

Jason had to be quick on the return trips, too; once, Batman had absently climbed back into the plane and left Robin standing in the middle of a crop circle in Iowa when he took off. Robin had watched him ascend in disbelief before remembering his com unit.

" _Forget something?_ " he demanded. There was no apology. Jason would have forgiven him if he'd just said what it was about already, but Bruce insisted that he needed more data before he shared any of his suspicions.

Jason stopped respecting his space after that. He peeked at the Batcomputer whenever he got a chance, wondering what Bruce was researching. He was surprised to find that he had accessed the Lantern Corp databases and seemed to be compiling data on anomalies across the galaxy. One case was highlighted in red, the date underlined and the word "Fate" noted next to it.

Jason slipped away upstairs before Bruce could notice him watching and pulled out his Team communicator. He didn't use it often; the Team had made it clear that he was welcome on missions, but it was weird being around them as Robin. Nightwing had barely been Nightwing for a year and they were all clearly still used to seeing Dick in red and black, not Jason. Bruce wasn't pushing it too hard, so Jason mostly stuck to Gotham. But Barbara Gordon had crashed into the vigilante life a few months ago and she loved the Team, and the League, and had a lot of access he didn't (some of it officially granted, some not). He called her.

"Hey Barbie," he said.

"Don't call me that," Batgirl answered. "What's up, kid?"

"Looking into something for Bats. Do you know what Doctor Fate was up to about a month ago?"

"Probably. What's today, Tuesday? So a month ago… Oh, yeah, I remember. He was off-planet for something. Not a League call, but anything more than that and I'd have to check the databases. But Batman has access and probably already knows, so what are you _really_ looking for?" she asked.

"Uh, training," Jason said. He knew Batgirl would side with Batman if he told her what he was actually doing. "Supposed to be honing my investigative skills."

"O…kay," Batgirl said. "You sure he didn't mean you were supposed to hack in yourself and find that info?"

Bruce _would_ do that, wouldn't he. Jason laughed. "He didn't specify that I had to be sneaky about it, he just said get the info, so I thought I'd ask the nicest, smartest person I know…"

"Yeah, yeah," Batgirl said. "I _am_ a pretty amazing resource. But you know, if you spent more time with the Team, you'd be clued in on this stuff. Have your own authorization levels."

"I know, I know, it's just… weird. And there's enough to do in Gotham," Jason said. He _liked_ Gotham. He got why Bruce was protective of it.

"Hm, okay, got your info. Doctor Fate went off world on Lords of Order business to investigate the destruction of a small planet, and I only know that because Green Lantern went with and logged it for the League and the Corp. Geez, it's all the way on the other side of the galaxy. Can you imagine?"

"Not really," Jason said. "What's so special about that planet?"

"Doesn't say. Uninhabited, not suited to life as we know it… I don't know. You'd have to ask Fate, I guess."

"Got it. Thanks, Batgirl."

"Not so fast, sparky. I'm not a reference librarian. You owe me."

That was kind of a relief. Jason was definitely not used to having favors granted for nothing. "What do you want?"

"I want the scoop on Nightwing."

"Uhh… what makes you think there's a scoop on Nightwing?" Jason asked. He was glad they weren't talking face-to-face.

"He's been away on this mysterious mission for _months_ – for at least as long as I've been Batgirl, and Zatanna says he first disappeared last December, which is a ridiculously long time. The Team says he hasn't checked in since April, Batman says I'm supposed to call if I see him and not mention that little instruction to the Team, and now suddenly B's totally absent from the Watchtower and even harder than usual to get a hold of? You live there. What's the big project? Did— did something go wrong with whatever Nightwing was doing?"

"No, I—" _If you see him, call me immediately_. "I don't know. Batman's not keeping me in the loop on this one. I've gotta go, it's almost time for patrol."

"Alternatively, it's almost time for Mount Justice movie night," Batgirl said. "C'mon, we're watching _The Crow_. Let Batman handle the city for one night."

"Eh, guy comes back from the dead to wreak vengeance on criminals and clean up his city? Kind of hokey, isn't it?" Jason deflected. He'd seen _The Crow_ at one of the East End's decaying, run-down theatres that showed old movies and hadn't fixed the lock on the emergency exit. It wasn't bad, but what he wasn't saying was that patrol was more often than not just him these days. If Batgirl wasn't in town, then it was even more important that he go out, because Batman might not look up from the computer for anything short of a full Arkham prison break at the moment. Not that Jason minded. Whenever Batman came up for air, he'd find his city just how he'd left it, and he'd know that Jason had handled it. When had Nightwing ever taken care of Gotham all by himself?

"It's a classic and part of our ongoing 'drop pop-culture into Superboy's head' series."

"Which sounds like a laugh a minute, really, but I gotta go."

"Okay. Be careful!"

Jason rolled his eyes. Babs acted like an older sister sometimes, but he'd been doing this longer than her even if she _was_ a year or two older. He'd be fine

 

Dick tore his way out of darkness, thin tendrils of it clinging to him as he clawed at the real world – at a rooftop in Gotham, fingers scrabbling in dirt and gravel as he curled in his legs and rolled, then lay gasping from the effort it had taken to get here. But he should have time… a few hours, at least, maybe longer.

Klarion had been dragging him all over the universe, and frequently to Earth, for strange little errands that Dick had stopped trying to figure out. At first he'd tried to fight Klarion, and got in some good hits, but Klarion was, ultimately, more stable than he was. All Klarion had to do was wait for Dick's grip on his power to slip just slightly, for him to overextend, and then he'd win. He'd shove into Dick's mind, or somehow tear the threads of Dick's power right from his hands, and use him. Dick was getting better at resisting, but it wasn't enough. By the time Klarion pointed him at a star and told him they needed to shift it an inch to the right, he didn't even argue.

He didn't _obey_ , either. But when Klarion saw he wasn't about to comply and reached a clawed hand toward Dick's chest to force his power out, Dick let him. Klarion looked a little shocked to encounter no resistance as his hand sank into Dick's chest, right above his heart. Then he looked angry. He twisted his wrist and _yanked._ Dick gasped as his throat closed and his vision swam. He tried to relax, to breathe, to let Klarion just take what he wanted so Dick could pass out because he was so, so _tired_ …

He had, eventually. He'd woken up back in the workshop, with Klarion folding his limbs into one of the larger chests and getting ready to shut the lid. Adrenaline had spiked through Dick and he'd scrambled to get out, but Klarion shoved him down.

"Broken toys don't get played with," he'd said, and tried to slam the lid closed. Dick knew, somehow, that if that lid closed he wasn't getting it open again no matter how powerful he was. What had followed had been the most vicious resistance Dick had mounted since he'd destroyed Ra's and Savage's base.

Klarion cackled throughout, taking everything Dick threw at him with glee, even when the hits landed – right up until Dick had ripped a seam out of Klarion's pocket dimension and began to unravel it; universe be damned, Dick was _done_ being toyed with. Unmaking took power, though, and Dick barely had enough to scramble away while Klarion was distracted in holding his little dimension together, in repairing the damage Dick had done. But he'd done it. He'd finally landed in Gotham.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled to the edge of the roof, wondering where exactly he'd landed. He'd just followed the tug he felt to Gotham, had no idea where he'd ended up, but a quick glance around told him. The Diamond District.

As if on cue, glass shattered and a burglar alarm blared into the street. Dick's head snapped toward it and he was running before he thought, across the rooftops and around a corner… to where Robin was taking out a pair of burglars. It looked like he'd kicked them through the glass, triggering the alarm. From his vantage, Dick could see police already on the way as Robin tied them to a light post and shot off into the night in the opposite direction from where Dick was watching.

Dick looked around, expecting to see Batman shadowing him. He even turned abruptly just in case Batman had spotted him and was looming behind him while Dick had been distracted watching Robin. But no. No Bat. He frowned and followed after Robin. Dick had vanished off the face of the Earth; even taking into account the falsified communications, it had been way too long since his last 'check-in,' and Batman had paid Slade a visit, which meant he likely now knew at least part of the story. What the hell was he doing letting Robin run around on his own, without even a partner from the Team to back him up, after what had happened to Dick?

Then again, the kid was, what, sixteen? Dick had been handling a lot at that age, too. But never without his friends around him, and Batman had definitely never let him handle Gotham solo. Jason seemed competent enough – he handled a few muggings, a car-jacking; run-of-the-mill crime for Gotham – but when his route took him down to the docks on the trail of some samples of fear toxin he'd unearthed while stopping a drug deal, still no evidence of Batman or backup, Dick felt his temper fray.

Scarecrow had clearly been manufacturing this batch for a while, because the warehouse was full of it, already crated and ready for distribution. When Robin swung in to apprehend the ring-leaders, thinking this was a simple supply dump, Scarecrow himself emerged from an office – with a battle-ready sample fresh from the lab.

Dick didn't wait any longer. He dropped from the rafters just as Scarecrow lobbed his test-tube at Robin, who was engaged with two of Scarecrow's enforcers. Dick scooped the toxin from the air and hurled it back at Scarecrow, who merely laughed when it shattered at his feet and unfurled into the air.

"You think I didn't already immunize myself?" he cackled.

"I think I don't need a toxin to show you fear," Dick growled, advancing on Scarecrow right through the dissipating red cloud. He _felt_ it tickle his brain, trying to get a foothold, but when the hallucinations started appearing around him it was easy to distinguish them from reality. He grinned, then grabbed Scarecrow by the front of his ragged costume.

"But— you— oh, I see, not human? _Interesting_ ," Scarecrow said even as Dick lifted him off his feet. "I'd love to run some tests—"

Dick hurled him across the warehouse, right into a crate of toxin, shattering more vials. He stalked over to him, letting his mask creep over his face, letting darkness bleed off of him, letting the chaos out just a little.

"Oh, that's… I'm not supposed to be…" Scarecrow was clearly confused and at least a little afraid. Not afraid enough. Dick dragged him up again. "Don't forget your friend!" Scarecrow said desperately.

"Friend?"

"Robin! I doubt he's as immune as you are!"

Dick dropped Scarecrow and whirled. Robin was still fending off a few of Scarecrow's goons, his back to Dick as he ducked their wild swings. Dick teleported to his side, grabbed his arm, and teleported away to fresh air – on a rooftop on the other side of the city.

As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Robin yanked away from him, wide-eyed, spinning to face him. He was wearing a respirator. Dick breathed a sigh of relief.

"What the _fuck_?" Robin demanded, pulling the respirator off. "What the hell just— Nightwing?" He looked suddenly unsure, eyes darting around the rooftop as he took a few more steps back.

"Sorry," Dick said. "The fear toxin— I didn't think—" It was so _hard_ to think.

Robin's eyes swept over Dick, taking in his altered appearance. His hand edged toward his utility belt. "Who are you?"

"It's me, Jason. It's Dick."

Robin hissed. "You wanna watch it with the names?"

Oh, right. Robin probably wouldn't be reassured if he said he'd just wipe the memory of anyone who overheard.

"Robin," Dick corrected himself. "Where's Batman?"

"Batman. Shit," Robin said. He touched a hand to his ear. "Robin to Batcave."

"He's at the _Cave_? Why isn't he out here with you?"

Robin ignored him. "Batman, there's a situation with Scarecrow down at the docks and…" His eyes darted to Dick. "Nightwing's here."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "He told you to report if you saw me. He noticed something was off." Robin was clearly still listening to his com – probably to a lecture, if Dick knew Batman – so Dick cut his hand sharply through the air and shorted out the communicator. Robin yelped at the sudden shock of static in his ear and glared at Dick. "If he knew something had happened to me why the hell isn't he out here with you?"

"I don't know what he knows," Robin said, edging back a little more. "Why don't you tell me? What happened? What's with—" He gestured up and down at Dick. "All that? Your mask is fucking scary."

Dick touched a finger to the edge of his mask. He didn't take it off – didn't even consider it – but he did shrink it back a little, into something closer to the traditional domino.

"Um, _what_ ," Robin said, eyes going wider. "No, you know what, I'm gonna go." He turned and sprinted toward the edge of the building, self-preservation winning out.

"No, wait!" Dick said, starting after him. Robin tossed a few smoke pellets over his shoulder to obscure his trajectory as he fired his grapple to another building, but Dick just reached out a coil of power to stop him.

He'd been fighting superpowers for too long. He was too used to being the weaker combatant. His power gripped Robin around the ankle and tugged him back against the force of his grapple. Robin struggled to hang on to his line, then cried out as the coil tightened. He lost his grip and crashed back to the roof where Dick had pulled him.

Dick knelt to help him up but Robin scrabbled away from him, sprang back to his feet – but kept his weight off his right foot.

"Did I— you're hurt. Let me see," Dick said.

"Stay over there," Robin hissed as Dick approached. He hopped backward, toward the edge of the building. Dick panicked and called a gust of wind to push him forward, closer to the center of the roof. It overbalanced Robin, sending him sprawling, but at least he was away from the ledge. Dick knelt at his side, reaching for his leg. Robin curled away from him, but Dick caught his calf just under the knee and pulled his foot into his lap so he could look at the ankle. "Just leave it alone," Robin said. His hands were braced on the roof behind him, and he clearly wanted to pull away, but wasn't willing to risk further damaging his ankle.

"We should loosen this before it starts to swell," Dick said, starting to undo the clasps on Robin's boot. "I don't have healing magic, I'm sorry."

"You don't have… Nightwing, what the hell?" Robin demanded, every line of his body tense.

"It's a long story. And I don't have long, probably, before Klarion catches up with me."

" _Klarion_? Ah, fuck, don't!" Robin swore, though this last part was more because Dick had tried to lift his foot out of the loosened boot. Dick paused.

"I can't fight him," Dick said. "I can't. Anything I try, it's just not enough. And enough would be… too much. I don't have the _control_." He looked up from his careful study of Robin's ankle. "And he'll follow me here. I can't believe Batman sent you out here alone."

"He didn't," Robin said. "I came out here on my own because he's too distracted looking for _you_ to take care of his own city. Now let me go."

"You're handling Gotham on your own and he hasn't _noticed_?" Dick managed to avoid gripping Robin's ankle tighter in his sudden anger, but it was a close thing. "That's— he doesn't deserve you, little wing."

"What?"

"He lost me and he'd throw you away trying to fix it?"

"That's not what's going on. And what do you mean he lost you? You're right here," Robin said.

Dick laughed. The sound shot a jolt of fear from the base of Robin's spine right to his brain. Instinct made him try to pull his leg out of Dick's grip, even though he knew there was nowhere he could run, injured like this. "Don't," Dick said, tightening his hand on Robin's calf ever so slightly. Robin froze. "Don't go running back to him. Come with me."

"Come with you where?"

"I'm not sure."

The little nervous sound that escaped Robin's throat was almost laughter. "Really selling it, N."

"I just need long enough to figure out the ritual," Dick mused. "It would solve everything. Stability for me, extra protection for you, plus I'm pretty sure we can share power—"

"Whoa, whoa, hang on, what the hell are you talking about?"

"You could be my Robin. Be my anchor. Like Teekl is for Klarion. Help me avoid nuking the universe."

" _Nuking the universe?_ "

"Yeah, it's a problem," Dick said. "But the way the anchor bond works—"

"So go find yourself a pretty rock or something! Leave me out of it!"

"No, this is perfect! You'd be so much better than a cat—"

"Oh, good, glad I rate 'better than a cat.' Let me _go_ , dickhead." Robin yanked his foot away, but the pain of wrenching his ankle out of Dick's grip made him cry out and fall back, clutching at his leg.

"Jason!" Dick reached after him, just as a heavy shadow fell over them from above. A solid black shape knocked Dick backward, blocking Robin from view. Dick flinched, thinking Klarion had found him already, and flung out a hand – and a wave of power – to defend himself.

Batman grunted and slid backward under the force of it, staying between Dick and Robin even as Robin scrambled farther away.

"Batman," Nightwing said, staring up at him from the ground as Batman slowly straightened. Whatever emotion was bubbling up in his chest, it was threatening to choke him. He wanted to cry and rage and laugh all at the same time. He wanted to hug Batman or hit him. He could feel the mask on his face contorting, spreading again, sharpening and retracting. He turned away, covering his face with one hand. He didn't see Batman take a step toward him, hand outstretched.

Robin sucked in a harsh, pained breath through his teeth and Batman's head snapped toward him. "Robin, status."

"Fucking… busted… ankle," Robin got out.

"Scarecrow?" Batman asked, vengeance in his voice.

"Me," Nightwing said. He dropped his hand and stood. "I hurt him, Bruce. Where were you?"

Batman's jaw clenched. "Nightwing, you need help."

"Yeah, thanks, I figured that part out."

"Come back to the Cave. We'll take care of Robin's ankle, figure out what comes next."

Dick felt it, then. A ripple in the air. Klarion was coming. "The Cave's warded, right? Against magic?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Go, then. Maybe it'll be enough to keep you safe." Dick turned on his heel, took two steps into the air, and vanished, reappearing in Bludhaven. Close enough to where he'd been that Klarion wouldn't notice the discrepancy, far enough that Batman wouldn't try to interfere. He was a little beyond Batman's help, now.

 

Batman lowered himself and Robin down to street level, where the Batmobile was parked not far away. "Did you know?" Robin demanded before their feet had even touched pavement. "Is this what Deathstroke told you?"

"Deathstroke told me that Nightwing had made a deal with a chaos demon. I was… skeptical." The side door of the Batmobile opened and Batman supported Robin as he lowered himself to the seat. "My investigation shows that there's certainly a new player in the field as far as magic-users go, but whether or not that was actually Nightwing—"

"What? He _knew_ us, Batman. And if that wasn't Nightwing, then where is he?"

"Good questions. My findings are filed on the private drive at the Cave. You're authorized for access. See Alfred for your ankle, then take a look and let me know your conclusions when I get back."

"When you— you're not going back to the Cave?"

"Scarecrow's still out there." Batman activated the autopilot and the harness emerged from Robin's seat, strapping him in.

"Hey, wait a second—"

The door hissed closed and the Batmobile shot off for home.

 

"The good news is that this is a mild ligament sprain," Alfred told Jason a little while later as he wrapped his ankle. He'd been waiting when the Batmobile made berth. "You only need to stay off of it for…" He eyed Jason. "A month."

"A week," Jason countered.

"Three weeks," Alfred shot back.

"Two."

"We shall re-evaluate at two," Alfred offered. "And you promise to abide by my decision at that time with no further argument."

"Sold," Jason said. "You got some crutches stashed around here? I need to get over to the computer."

"You most certainly do not," Alfred said. "You need to elevate this, and you cannot do that sitting at the computer. Bed, young man."

"Bruce told me to review the files on the private drive. I can't do that anywhere but at the main console."

Alfred pursed his lips. Jason had filled him in on all that had happened that night; he knew what this was about, knew the stakes. "The files will still be there when the swelling has gone down."

"But Dick—"

"—has Master Bruce looking after him – as he should be looking after you. But since he seems to have forgotten that at the moment and as you are not inclined to do so yourself, it falls to me. Come along; I'll help you upstairs." His tone brooked no argument, and Jason knew it.

"I can stay in one of the beds down here," Jason said by way of appeasement. Also, there were a _lot_ of stairs between here and his bedroom. Alfred's expression softened and he nodded, helping Jason stand and hobble over to the infirmary cots, away from the main flow of activity.

Jason had to admit it felt good to lie down. Alfred produced a firm pillow from somewhere and propped his injured foot up, then retrieved an ice pack for it.

"There. Right as rain in no time. Can I fetch you anything else?"

"You know, these beds have wheels. You could push me over to—"

"No, Master Jason. Anything _other_ than allowing you to work yourself to further injury?"

"No," Jason said. He wouldn't mind having the book he'd left on his nightstand, but he didn't want to make Alfred go all the way back up there to fetch it. And he had enough to keep his mind busy. "Alfred," he said. "Why did Bruce let Deathstroke go?"

Alfred paused, then drew a chair over and sat so that Jason wouldn't have to look up such a long way. "I really couldn't say. There could be any number of reasons, I suppose. Perhaps he had no way of confining Deathstroke at the time, or perhaps the two had reached a stalemate of sorts."

"Someone says 'Hey, your kid made a deal with a demon' and you just walk away? You don't get _details_? How did Deathstroke even know about Dick in the first place? Did he find out because Dick showed up at his apartment? And what was _that_ about?" Jason's mind was churning out more questions by the second, and he couldn't keep up with them. Alfred didn't miss his eyes darting longingly to the computer across the cave.

"You really must try to rest," Alfred said.

"Don't we have a printer?"

"Ah, I knew we were forgetting something when we furnished this state-of-the-art vigilante lair."

"Is that a yes?"

"It is a _rest_. Close your eyes for half an hour. That is all I ask."

Jason couldn't say no to Alfred. He pointed at his own face and very deliberately closed his eyes. "There. See? Closed."

"Very impressive. Now try your mouth."

"Ha. Ha." Nevertheless, Jason folded his hands on his stomach and settled himself in the bed. Half an hour. He could use the time to organize his thoughts.

 

Dick seethed in the darkness of a fold in space-time. Klarion had caught him. Again. He needed an anchor, or this was going to keep happening. More than that, he'd need _time_ to establish that anchor before Klarion came after him. At the moment, though, the thing he needed most was to stop Klarion draining away his power.

He was on his knees on a vague conception of a floor as Klarion "borrowed" his power to rebuild the pocket dimension Dick had wrecked. Two lashes of iridescent purple energy had erupted from the floor and wrapped around his wrists as soon as Klarion had dropped him here, effectively chaining him down and then growing thorns that dug into his flesh. Dick had pulled away, then tried to teleport away, but it was too late; they were drinking the power right out of his blood, siphoning it out and into the construction Klarion was directing.

"I need more," Klarion mused. "I always wanted a library. You've got enough of a charge, I think."

Dick yanked hard on his bonds, getting them to stretch a little, but not enough that he could stand. A third lash shot out of the area Klarion had designated as "ground" and wrapped around Dick's neck twice before the tip of it spun like a drill and delved right into the hollow of his throat. Dick choked and the energy contracted, shrinking back into the ever-more-solid floor and forcing him to bow forward.

Klarion knelt on one knee in front of him and dropped a hand on his head. "Shh. You're not choking. You don't need to _breathe_. The sooner you leave behind that human nonsense, the more fun we'll have."

Dick snarled something incoherent and tried to pull away, but the ropes – whatever they were – shrank further, pulling him down so that his forehead was nearly touching the newly-made flagstones beneath him.

"You need to stop trying to be something you're not. You'll only hurt yourself," Klarion said. "Or someone else." He put his hands on the sides of Dick's face and pulled his head up, forcing him to look into Klarion's eyes even as the spike piercing his throat tried to pull him back down. But that consideration became secondary as the black of Klarion's eyes expanded, swallowing all of Dick's vision. He couldn't blink, couldn't move.

All he could do was watch.

 

Jason startled awake when a hand brushed across his forehead. Bruce was looking down at him, cowl pushed back and gauntlets discarded. Jason went to shove himself up but winced as he thoughtlessly shifted his ankle.

"Stay put," Bruce said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I didn't mean to sleep," Jason replied. "Did you get Scarecrow?"

Bruce nodded. "It's taken care of. You should have told me you were going out tonight."

Jason gave a little half-shrug. "I could have handled it if it wasn't for…" He trailed off.

"Hm," Bruce said. He sat in the chair Alfred had been occupying when Jason had fallen asleep. "Is that why you stayed down here?"

"I stayed down here because I was waiting for Alfred to blink so I could ransack your files," Jason said, a little confused as to what Bruce thought the connection was between his encounter with Dick and choosing to rest in the Cave.

A tiny smile pulled at Bruce's lips and then vanished. "Good."

Jason's eyebrows shot up. "Bruce. Are you condoning _disobeying Alfred_?"

"Heaven forbid," Bruce said drily. "No, I meant that it's good you weren't staying down here because of the threat Nightwing made before he disappeared."

Jason stared at him blankly. "Threat?"

"That maybe the wards on the Cave would be enough to protect us. It's likely he meant the opposite."

"Bruce," Jason said slowly. "That didn't sound like a threat when he said it."

"He ran from us in Chicago, he attacked you tonight. Whoever he is, he's not friendly."

"He didn't _exactly_ attack me—"

"Jason," Bruce said. "I know he looks like Dick. He sounds like him. He _moves_ like him… it's highly probable he is him, but he's not the same. You can't trust him until we know what's going on."

"I know that," Jason said, a little defensive. Bruce should be telling _himself_ that. He was the one with the attachment to Dick; Jason barely knew the guy.

"Hm," Bruce said again. He stood. "Review the files when you can. Then we'll strategize. I'll let Barbara know to be on her guard."

"And the rest of the Team?"

"We'll have to tell them something." He sounded reluctant. "The League as well. Let me worry about that, though. There's no use alarming everyone when we're not certain what's happening."

 

Dick had seen himself hurt or kill his friends in a hundred different ways. He saw himself track down the Light one by one and execute them. He saw Batman hunt him down, the entire League behind him, putting him away in a deep, dark hole where no one would ever have to think about him again. He saw himself save his parents by fracturing time. He saw himself rejected, his friends turning away from him in fear, he saw his anger take over, and always, over and over, he saw himself putting out the light of every star in the cosmos, breaking the world, the universe, snuffing out life so thoroughly that there wasn't even a space between spaces left for him to hover in.

"Accepting your power means being able to choose between all of these scenarios. You could do whatever you want. You could stop _me_ from doing whatever _I_ want," Klarion hissed in his ear as Dick stabbed Batman in the back and dropped him in Gotham harbor.

"None of this is real," Dick whispered to himself as blood dripped down his hand. He wasn't entirely certain he'd said it out loud. "I choose none of it." He chased after Wally, just as fast as he was, caught him, dragged him before the entity that had turned Dick into what he was now. Watched Wally's mind break.

"Then you give up control. Boring choice. Don't recommend it."

Doctor Fate came after Dick, and Dick wrenched the helm off his head, ignoring the sparks and surges of power as the helmet attempted to defend itself. Zatara fell to the ground, bleeding from the eyes and ears, and Dick handed the helmet over to Klarion. Zatanna flew at him in a rage, but Dick fended her off, laughing.

"Stop," Dick begged. He didn't know whether he was talking to Klarion or himself. "Just— I know none of this is real. It's not. It's not real," he repeated. His eyes hurt, straining to blink. "Please." He just had to blink. He was a _chaos lord_ , he should be able to at least manage that.

Batman rose up behind him, a looming shadow. He wrapped his arms around Dick, and for a second, Dick relaxed. Then Batman began to squeeze, crushing him, his cape smothering Dick as his bones creaked and he let out a cry of pain.

"You failed," Batman said. "You made the wrong call. You should have let the Light have you, instead of this." Batman dropped him and Dick fell into a deep hole, the earth around him dark and threaded through with roots. Batman had dropped him into a grave, right into an open coffin, which promptly slammed shut. "Dick Grayson is dead."

"I'm not. I'm still _me_ , I'm not dead. Bruce, don't!" Dick heard dirt hit the lid of the coffin and began to claw at it, ripping away satin. The sides of the box were tight against his shoulders. He couldn't _breathe_. He squeezed his eyes shut—

And he was out of the coffin. Out of the earth. The visions stopped assaulting him, he wasn't chained down. He drew a deep, shuddering breath of relief before he realized where he was.

A ten by ten cell. An observation window. But instead of Deathstroke watching over him from the room beyond, Batman was there with Doctor Fate.

"Batman," Dick said, running to the window and pounding against it to get his attention. Batman didn't seem to hear him. "It's me, I'm here. Get me out!"

"We need to run some tests," Batman was saying. Dick didn't question how he could hear them. "I don't care about the risk. Do what you have to."

Fate nodded. "I have a cell that can hold him, at least."

"No," Dick said. "He wouldn't. This isn't happening. I'm not _here_."

Batman turned to him, eyes narrowing. "He broke. He's useless to me like this."

The cell seemed to get smaller and somehow they'd rigged it so that they could suck all of the air out of it, apparently. Dick clutched his head. "I'm not. I'm not. I'm not." He was breathing too quickly, no air reaching his lungs at all. He needed to get out, to run, to fly. He clawed at the mask on his face, but it didn't budge. The only thing he succeeded in doing was drawing gouges down his cheeks – scratches that didn't bleed, but leaked crystalline power instead. It stained his fingers. He stared at one of his hands for a few moments, not sure what he was seeing.

Then he set his jaw and plunged his own hand into his chest, took hold of his power, and let it loose.

 

Klarion looked up from where he'd been curled in one of his new armchairs, brushing Teekl. His pocket dimension was complete and much more extensive than it had been before, thanks to the boundless trapped power of his new toy – who had just exploded from the room where he'd been chained and gone crashing back to Earth like a meteorite.

"Finally," Klarion said. It had been _ages_. "I was beginning to think I'd overdone it. Shall we see what he does next?"

Teekl purred.

 


	17. Southern Italy: Now

**Southern Italy  
_Now_**

Dick crashed to the floor out of nowhere, startling Jason so badly that he ended up with his back against the far wall of the kitchen before he realized what had happened. Jason had finally been driven out of the bedroom by hunger (and the obnoxious realization that no, digging through the walls with a piece of the bed frame really _wasn't_ going to work), but his search of the cabinets yielded nothing his initial, more perfunctory search had missed. It was his second day here. Things were going to get dire before too long.

Not that they weren't already dire. Dick seemed to be leaking smoke, breathing heavily as he got to his knees and then, slowly, to his feet. There were tears in his suit, but instead of showing skin or blood, there was just darkness bleeding out over the edges of each rent.

"Need to… hide," Dick half gasped, half growled. "I'll just… take us out of the world. I can do it. I can handle it."

Jason felt a spike of panic. "You don't look like you can handle anything right now," he protested.

Dick glared at him, tendrils of darkness reaching from his wounds toward Jason. Jason pressed harder to the wall, but there was nowhere to go. Then Dick seemed to deflate suddenly, the smoke sucking back into the bounds of his skin. He folded down on himself, crouching on the balls of his feet and hugging his knees, tucking his head down. Jason still heard the stifled sob, less like crying and more like an aborted venture into hyperventilation.

He wasn't sure how to handle that. He knew very well the look of someone lost in the dark. When it had been him, Damian had given him sanity. Who did Dick have?

 _Great. Sympathize with your murderer_ , Jason thought. _Are you sure about that sanity?_ "Dick?" he asked, not moving from where he stood. "What happened?"

"Fate," Dick whispered.

"As in, Doctor Fate?" Jason asked.

"She found me. She'll find us. A veil. I can manage a veil." Dick shot to his feet and gestured wildly at the balcony. The apartment crashed into deep darkness as the light from the windows was obliterated. Jason's heart seized. He blinked several times, rapidly, but there was no change. He felt suddenly dizzy with the need to _run_ , to get away and hide, but he knew Dick was there somewhere in the dark. Jason sank down against the wall, pressing himself to it as firmly as he could, the only solid point in his entire world now.

 _It's just darkness_ , he told himself. _You've dealt with darkness. This isn't anything new_. His brain wasn't interested in logic and insisted on pumping enough adrenaline to run a marathon into his bloodstream. He threaded his fingers into his hair, trying to remember how to control his breathing, and then someone was grabbing at him.

Jason reacted as he always had when the Shadows or his teachers had come for him in the dark. He lashed out, striking where he knew the neck must be, aiming for weaknesses. His hits landed, but there was no sound of pain, only a quiet curse.

"Damn it, Jason, if I was human you might actually hurt me." Dick sounded grumpy. "Snap out of it! Where's your stupid rock?" The fact that it was Dick's hands pawing at him did _not_ help and Jason writhed, trying to get away now rather than fight. Dick finally found what he was looking for in one of Jason's pockets, though. He pulled out the glowstone and the kitchen filled with soft blue light.

"There," Dick said. "Better?" He scowled at what he saw on Jason's face, though. Jason knew his own eyes were stretched as wide as they could go, unblinking because that would mean looking away, even if only for an instant. He'd shoved himself into a corner where the cabinetry met the wall trying to get away from Dick and now Dick was holding the stone, the one Damian had given him, his only light in the dark.

He wouldn't try to take it back. He wouldn't beg for it. Wouldn't let Dick see how important it was, if he couldn't already tell by the way Jason was fixated on it.

Dick placed the stone gently on the floor near Jason's foot and then stood up and backed away. Jason didn't touch it, just watched Dick.

Dick shook his head. "What a mess. You. Me. Well, mostly me. Since it's my fault." He turned away and raised a hand, conjuring a small globe of light. As soon as his back was turned, Jason scooped up the glowstone and tucked it away. Dick tossed the light at the ceiling and it hovered there, illuminating the apartment. He looked back over his shoulder at Jason. "What else do you need?"

"Food," Jason said. He meant it to sound scathing and obvious, but it came out more like a plea, and he hated that. The eyes of Dick's mask widened.

"I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Jay. I meant to— it's not something I can just conjure, that's what I was doing when I ran into Fate. I'll try again, I just need to… get it together."

Jason stared at him. "Why?"

Dick shifted from foot to foot, looking, as he always did, like he was about to burst into motion. "Why what?"

"Why do you _care_?" Jason rasped. "You could starve me. Make me weak. Be easier to convince me."

Dick's laughter grated against Jason's ears. "I don't want you weak. I'm trying to _fix_ you. What I did to you was an accident, the worst mistake of my life—"

"Bullshit," Jason spat.

"It _was_ —"

"That's not how I remember it. You knew exactly what you were doing," he said, hands shaking. He clenched them around his knees, drawn up to his chest. "You were _precise_ about it. Enjoyed it."

Now it was Dick's turn to stare. "No. No, I never… I didn't… No! Look!" Dick lunged forward, diving to his knees in front of Jason, reaching out and taking Jason's face between his hands. Jason sucked in a harsh breath and grabbed Dick's wrists in a bone-crushing grip, but Dick was immovable. And then they were both falling, toward a rooftop in Gotham, one that had, once upon a time, twisted out of the confines of physics under the pressure of Nightwing's madness.

Jason landed on his feet, Dick behind him, hands on his shoulders. " _Look_ ," Dick insisted.

Across the rooftop, Jason saw himself, younger, softer, dressed as Robin, approaching a kneeling Nightwing, one hand out. He saw Nightwing's power burst from him, saw himself flung across the roof and over the edge. Jason flinched and looked away. In front of him, the Nightwing of the past collapsed and everything went dark, Dick and Jason floating once more in blackness.

"Oh no," Jason growled. "No, no, you don't get to just _fade to black_ and call that the end." He whirled on Dick. " _You_ look!" He grabbed Dick's shoulders and head-butted him with all the force he could muster, heedless of the pain he'd cause himself. Dick gasped and the darkness around them shattered, fell apart to reveal Gotham once again.

"Jason, don't! Don't fall into this memory!" Dick's voice was distant, and too late. Jason gave himself to the memory's grip, to the rooftops of Gotham on a cold night three years ago.


	18. Gotham: 3 Years Ago

**Gotham  
_3 Years Ago_**

"Batgirl to Robin. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Batgirl's voice very clearly indicated that she hoped the answer was no.

"Are you seeing the skyline do an impression of a Tim Burton set? Because yeah," Robin answered, staring. He and Batgirl were covering Gotham tonight, with Batman's blessing for once. Batman himself was out of the city, and God help whichever villain he was hunting to ground this time. Robin had seen the files, had seen the timeline Batman had constructed around Nightwing's disappearance last December, had watched the recordings of Nightwing's communications dozens of times. If he had thought Batman single-minded before, that was _nothing_ to what he was now as he tracked down members of the Light one by one and left them, invariably, in prison hospitals. He hadn't found all of them yet – Ra's had been driven into hiding, and Lex Luthor was a bit untouchable (though it had looked like it might be a hospital for him anyway, until Superman had intervened). Deathstroke was on the list, too, despite not technically being a member of the Light, and he seemed to know it. He hadn't been seen since Chicago.

Batman was on the trail of Vandal Savage now. Robin was looking forward to reading the report on this one, but he and Batgirl had been left behind to watch over the city with strict instructions as to what they could and could not handle on their own without checking in with Batman. Buildings suddenly looming inward, rivers of darkness unfurling in the streets, and a general wavering of reality probably fell under the category of things they were not supposed to touch.

But Robin couldn't help it; he was in the _middle_ of it.

"Tell me that's not where you are," Batgirl said. Robin was patrolling around Crime Alley – because any time he could bring a little justice to his old haunts, he'd take it – while Batgirl was investigating reports of suspicious activity around the botanical gardens. They were just a touch further apart than Batman's guidelines for effective backup, but they were in constant communication. If Batgirl discovered that Poison Ivy had turned up at the botanical gardens, she knew better than to engage before letting Robin get a bit closer.

"It's… pretty much where I am," Robin admitted. "I'm gonna try and get some distance. I'll head toward you."

There was no answer.

"Batgirl?"

"—the cause— _skrrt_ —contact the— _shhk—_ Robin?"

Great. The coms were going down. If the twisting cityscape around him hadn't been clue enough, this would be a clear indicator that they were dealing with magic because bat-tech _never_ went down. Well, at least that was confirmation he and Batgirl hadn't both been drugged with something hallucinogenic.

"Batgirl, if you can hear me, my coms are down. Repeat, I am not receiving. Stay out of the… whatever the fuck this is. I'll come to you." He hoped she could hear him; if she thought he wasn't responding because he was in trouble, she'd dive in after him, and then they'd both be stuck in this.

He eyed the building nearest him, the top of which was curling down toward the rooftop he was standing on, like a plant that needed a little water. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and shot a line off into the night.

 

The twisted cityscape of Dick's nightmares had come to life. He was crouched on the roof of a gutted office building, watching the surrounding buildings stretch toward him. His chest ached and he could still feel the ghost of the gouges he'd scraped down his face. For a moment he wondered if Klarion was still messing with his mind, but he could _feel_ that he was on Earth.

"Get it together," he ordered himself. A spike of pain pierced through his head and he dropped to his knees with a groan. The chaos in him liked this look for Gotham; it didn't want to stop. Dick clenched his teeth and began reeling his power back in, inch by painful inch. The buildings around him straightened slightly. In the alley far below, a lone floodlight flickered back to life, pushing away the unnaturally thick darkness with its dull yellow light.

Then the spike in his skull pulsed and he lost his grip. Energy lashed out of him in a wave, twisting Gotham even further than it had been before. It felt like someone had snapped a rubber band against his brain and Dick yelled, pressing his hands to his head. When the pain was followed by a string of inventive swearing, he almost thought it was his own thoughts since it seemed to align perfectly with his feelings at the moment. But he abruptly realized that he recognized the voice doing the swearing, and it wasn't his.

He looked up and saw Robin pulling himself over the edge of the building. He froze when he saw Dick.

"I guess I should have seen this coming," Robin said, already prepping his line for a quick getaway.

Dick stared. Something wasn't right. "You… you were hurt," he said, still on his knees and not making any move to get up. He wasn't entirely certain Robin was real. "Your ankle."

Robin paused and looked at him suspiciously. "Nightwing, that was over two months ago. Where have you _been_?"

"Been?" Dick thought about everything that word meant. _Been_ implied _being_ , which meant existing. Two months. More time lost. "I haven't."

"Batman's been tearing across the planet trying to find out exactly what happened to you," Robin went on, ignoring Dick's nonsense. He turned the grapple over in his hands, remembering what had happened the last time he'd tried to zip away from Nightwing. "We know some of it. If you tell us the rest, we could help you."

"How?" Dick's tone was halfway between pleading and skeptical. There was enough hope in it to batter weakly against Robin's heart, like sparrow wings.

"I… don't know," Robin admitted. "Batman's been talking to Doctor Fate—"

" _No_ ," Dick said, surging to his feet. The rooftop rippled outward violently and Robin almost lost his footing.

"Nightwing, you need to stop doing… whatever this is," Robin said, steadying himself. "Come on, you know Bats. He'll find something."

Dick stalked toward Robin. "Always a solution. A plan for every situation. Do you think he saw this coming, little wing?"

"No," Robin said honestly, edging away. There was a fire escape a bit to the side, angling down between this building and its taller neighbor. Robin didn't want to go up; getting out of Nightwing's line of sight quickly seemed to be the better option, and that meant dropping over the side.

"Did he leave you alone again? Did he say it's because he trusts you to handle it?"

 _Handle what?_ Robin wanted to ask, but Nightwing clearly wasn't entirely present. "I'm not alone," Robin said. "I have backup. And Batman left the city for _you_ , you asshole, so don't try to make like he doesn't care."

"Too little," Dick said. "Too late. But _you_ came and found me."

"I was trying to get out of this hellscape you made," Robin spat. "Just my bad luck to pick the roof you were tripping on." He stepped onto the ledge. The fire escape was close enough. He'd drop, then fire a line to let himself down safely – but still quickly. Then he noticed how dark it was down there and swallowed hard. Maybe up would be better after all.

"Luck," Dick said. He wanted to say _fate_ but his tongue rebelled at the word and his head throbbed with another pulse of chaos asserting itself. He had just enough presence of mind to wrap an invisible coil of power around Robin's waist as the whole building lurched. Robin, standing right on the edge of the roof, was held immobile even as the roof moved out from under his feet, leaving him dangling briefly over open air, and then moved back. Robin stared at Nightwing, eyes very wide.

"I should let you go," Dick murmured, lifting Robin slightly.

"If you mean let me get on with my patrol, then yeah, I agree," Robin said, breathless as he ran his hands over the unseen thing constricting his waist. "If you're suggesting dropping me off this building, then I'd say you need to work on your villainous lines. That one's overdone."

Dick yanked him forward, which was a good thing since it put Robin further from the edge of the roof, but a bad thing since it made the coil wrapped around him tighter. Robin coughed and tried to squirm out of it, but there was no give. "I'm not a villain," Dick snarled.

"You're _hurting me_ ," Robin said through gritted teeth. Dick didn't seem to hear him, so Robin pried a batarang from his belt and let it fly at Dick's face.

He didn't even try to dodge. The batarang sliced across his cheek, but left no mark. Dick's fist clenched and the line of power holding Robin up snapped him down to the rooftop with a force that jarred every one of his bones. The last of Robin's breath whooshed out of his lungs and he was having a hard time drawing another one.

Then the invisible restriction vanished and Dick was backing away from him, shaking his head. Robin got to his feet, doing his own backing away, one arm across his stomach as he took a slow, deep breath. "Back off, Nightwing. Either you let us help you, or you'll have to fight us."

"I think you mean _you'll_  have to fight _me_ ," Dick said. "And you can't. Can't help either. But you _could_ join me."

"What did I just say about overdone villain lines?" Robin groused.

Instead of getting angry this time, Dick laughed, which seemed to surprise even him. Robin didn't waste any time; in the second Dick was distracted he fled, grappling up and away despite his earlier reservations. It was a better option than that inky darkness below.

Dick blinked, then gave chase without really thinking about it. He almost made another grab for Robin as his line retracted, pulling him toward the neighboring roof, but he redirected the impulse at the last second and used it to teleport to the rooftop himself, landing well back so that Robin couldn't see him until he pulled himself over the ledge. When he did, he swore and looked back over his shoulder as if to make sure he'd really left the prior rooftop.

"What do you want, Nightwing?" Robin spat. "I'm not joining your fan club."

"I— I know," Dick said. His head pounded. "I guess… help. I want help," he admitted, both to himself and to Robin. He could at least listen to what Batman had to say, couldn't he? That was reasonable. And it would make sense to at least consult Doctor Fate—

A blinding wave of pain crashed through Dick's head, making him see nothing but white for a moment. Gotham writhed under his feet.

"Nightwing?" Robin called uncertainly.

"Run," Dick gasped, but it was so quiet.

"If you'll stop all the weird chaos stuff, I can contact Batman," Robin said.

Dick tried, once more, to wind his power in to a neat and orderly skein within himself, to force the buildings back into their Euclidean patterns, to release the lights lining the streets. The effort drove him to his knees and he hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle. "Run, run, run," he breathed, but maybe he wasn't saying it out loud because Robin was getting closer.

"It's working, man, you got this," Robin encouraged him.

Dick's head came up, the eyes of his mask wide and the mask itself wild. "I don't," he whispered.

The power slipped, the way a river slips its banks in a storm: catastrophically, in an inescapable flood that rushed outward with the kind of force that would uproot trees and knock birds from the sky.

Robin didn't cry out as he was thrown backward, too stunned and then too hurt to muster the voice for it. It felt like a power line had come loose and whipped across his midsection. He was flung the length of the roof and farther, right over the edge, far enough to clear the gap between the buildings – but not quite far enough to make it to the neighboring roof. He crashed into the ledge of the roof and heard something snap, sharp new pain making him miss the opportunity to hang on. He fell, struck the rail of the fire escape, and bounced off. When he struck the next rail, he managed to fall the right way over it and sprawl on the grated landing, trying not to breathe.

Cracked rib (possibly ribs) from catching the edge of the building with his chest. Painfully throbbing shoulder from the first crash into the fire escape. That was the worst of it, but before he could finish assessing his injuries the fire escape tilted precipitously, twisting with the building. Robin gasped, scrabbling for purchase even as he slid between the rails. He dug his fingers into the grated platform, but with his injuries he couldn't hold his own weight. He fell from the landing into the void, which swallowed him greedily.

The darkness was apparently only concealing the alley, because Robin hit the asphalt almost exactly as he would have if he'd been able to see it coming. One leg buckled under him with a sickening _crack_ since he hadn't known to roll to absorb the impact and this time he _did_ give a shout of pain. He lay there for a moment, curled in the grime of Crime Alley, breathing shallowly, eyes stretched painfully wide to try to grab any scrap of light that might have gotten lost down here. He raised a shaky hand to his earpiece.

"Robin… to Batgirl," he groaned. "Looks like… can't come to you." There was no response. He had no idea if she was reading him. Just in case, though, he should probably give some details. But the pain was making coherency difficult. "Nightwing," he said. "Watch out for Nightwing."

His hand hovered over the emergency beacon in the opposite gauntlet. If he activated it and if the signal wasn't scrambled all to hell by whatever was going on here… someone would come looking. Would he be leading whoever responded right into more trouble than they could handle?

Maybe, but he needed help. Batgirl was smart enough not to go plunging into a rescue situation half-cocked, and the beacon might bring additional backup as well, which she would need. He turned it on and then let himself rest for thirty seconds. Then he rolled to his side (shooting pain), got his better leg under him (throbbing pain), and tried to stand. Only one of his legs was broken. He could still try to get out of this.

Then he heard laughter bouncing off unseen walls and the impenetrable darkness fluttered away, revealing the alley to be a dead end. Robin assessed it in an instant: a strata of refuse washed up in the corners, one moldering old dumpster to his right, brick wall to his back, fire escape to the left (too high up to be useful in his current state), and Nightwing – blocking the exit, grinning, and getting closer.

"That was an incredibly impressive fall."

Robin hopped backward, but the action jolted every fracture, break, and bruise he had and his leg collapsed under him.

"Don't get up," Nightwing said, smiling down at him. "I won't be long."

 

Klarion was at first annoyed that Dick had gone shooting back to Gotham _again_. The guy was getting predictable. But he made up for it quickly enough by warping Gotham into his own reality and then actually assaulting Batman's replacement bird on a rooftop. Klarion and Teekl watched the whole thing with rapt attention from a carefully hidden twist of reality – easy enough to do when the entire environment was a bit twisted.

And then Dick threw the Robin right off a building and Klarion thought that would probably be it for the boy bird, which would be excellent. One less tie to tug on Dick and distract him from what he could be or remind him of what he had been.

Dick collapsed under the weight of his own power, because he seemed to have no instinct for holding back. It was all or nothing with him. Klarion would collect him in a moment as soon as he figured out the best way to break it to him that he'd killed a Robin.

If he saw the scene for himself, he could play it back for Dick. Oh yes, that would be enjoyable.

"Come on, Teekl," he said, drifting down to the alley to take notes.

But the bird was still alive. He even _got up_. That wouldn't do at all. Klarion frowned. Then he grinned. "I have a wonderful idea, Teekl. Stay out of sight." Teekl _mrow_ ed in agreement and prowled behind a few trashcans at the entrance of the alley. Klarion cracked his knuckles and started to shift. Taller. Less bluish-white, more olive toned. Tamer hair, much as it pained him. Armor, a mask, a shattered blue symbol... he'd spent enough time studying his pet that his physical imitation was perfect.

Nightwing sauntered down the alley toward Robin.

 

Robin could only stare, disbelieving, as Nightwing kicked him solidly in the stomach, adding a little extra power so that Robin was actually lifted off the ground a bit before slamming into the brick wall at the end of the alley. He screamed as his broken ribs cracked further, first from the kick, then from the impact with the wall, and finally from hitting the ground, where he landed face-down.

"What…" His throat felt sticky and when he coughed, blood speckled onto the concrete beneath him. "Why?" he asked. It hurt even to turn his head to look up at Nightwing, but he did it.

"Hmmm," Nightwing said, musing. "A fall like that…" He looked up, studying the fire escape and the buildings on either side. Then he planted a foot solidly in the middle of Robin's back, eliciting another shout from him. He bent, putting more pressure on that foot, and grabbed one of Robin's wrists. Robin coughed up more blood between his groans of pain. Then Nightwing straightened, giving Robin's arm a sharp tug up and back. There was a wet tearing sound as his shoulder dislocated and Robin let out something between a gasp and a sob.

"Could a human die from this, do you think?" Nightwing asked, releasing his arm. It dropped heavily to the ground. Robin was shaking, but his other arm was slowly moving toward his utility belt. Nightwing watched curiously until he got a compartment open, but he didn't wait to see what he planned to pull out. He stomped down on Robin's wrist, listening for the crunch of delicate bones. "Shh," he said when Robin screamed. "I'm trying to hear the damage. I know you're big fans of breathing, but I don't think it's supposed to sound like that." He grinned. "Good. We're just about done here."

Robin spat blood on Nightwing's boots, which would have been annoying if they had actually been Klarion's boots. But they weren't, so that was okay. He wove his fingers through Robin's hair, lifting his head and his upper body from the ground. "This is what you get for trying to interfere," Nightwing said happily.

Then he slammed Robin's head into the corner of the dumpster.

A hollow _thunk_.

A new stain amid the patches of rust and oil.

Klarion dropped Robin's limp body back to the ground and dusted off his hands as he left the alley, collecting Teekl on the way.

 

Dick woke fully expecting to have been dragged back to Klarion's lair. He was surprised to instead find himself sprawled on a Gotham rooftop. A _normal_ Gotham rooftop. The reality distortion he'd been inflicting on the city seemed to have cleared up. He felt his power still roiling beneath his skin, but it was content for now.

"Jason," Dick breathed, jumping to his feet. He'd gone flying, Dick remembered that much. The kid thought he could survive anything since he'd already survived so much. Maybe now he'd learn. Dick went to the edge of the roof and looked over in the direction Robin had fallen, not really expecting to see anything. He'd probably caught himself on the roof and grappled the hell out of there. Dick would have.

Sure enough, the adjacent roof was empty. But Dick glanced down to the alley, now clear of darkness.

The alley was not empty. There was a sprawl of red peeking out from under the black shadow of a crumpled cape. Dick's breath lodged in his throat.

He appeared at Robin's side between one moment and the next. "Robin?" No answer. He was… unconscious. He had to be unconscious. Dick reached out gingerly, pressing fingers to Robin's neck. "No," he murmured. "No, no." He just couldn't find the pulse, that was all. It was tricky sometimes, if it was particularly weak, and there was… there was blood on the concrete.

"Jason," Dick said urgently. He put a hand on Robin's shoulder and turned him over. His face was splattered with red, his hair matted into a horrific gash in his skull. Dick fell back, staring. The lenses of Robin's mask made it look like he was staring right back.

His leg was twisted at a bad angle, one of his shoulders seemed crumpled, and that head wound…

He'd gone flying.

Dick had sent him flying.

" _No_." He could practically hear Klarion in his head. _Chaos isn't really big on the whole healing thing._ "I don't care." There had to be _something_. He leaned over Robin and pulled on his power, though his reserves had hardly recovered. His hands glowed with energy, but he didn't know what to do with it. "Fix him," he muttered. "I have to fix this." But there was nothing. Where before Dick had been able to see threads, intuit his way to end results, there was nothing to indicate how to bring someone back from the dead. There was no thread connecting Jason Todd to this broken husk.

Dick's hands began to shake. "It's not real," he whispered. "It's not. I'm not here. This isn't happening." It had to be Klarion messing with him. A hallucination. He'd watched himself kill Robin before, more than once, and in a minute the scene would shift and he'd see some other horror.

It didn't. Robin continued to stare at him.

Dick clenched his hands into fists to stop them from trembling and pressed his knuckles to the filthy pavement to ground himself. He could feel the chaos in him stirring, sensing that he needed an outlet, wanting to lash out, to bend reality again. He could make himself believe Jason was still alive, the chaos promised him. He could make his own hallucination.

"Get away from him!" A woman with a bat symbol on her chest dropped in front of him and kicked Dick, catching him in the chest. Dick fell back. "Robin?" the woman said. She looked down at him and her hand went to her mouth. Her mask didn't have lenses; Dick saw her eyes widen and then dart to him, staring. "What did you do?"

Dick shook his head. "Babs?" Was this real?

She leapt onto him, knocking him prone, her hands finding purchase in his chaos-woven approximation of a suit. "Batgirl," she hissed. "And you are _not_ Nightwing." She struck him across the face. He let her. Would have let her do more, but the chaos was tearing him to pieces. It was going to get out. He caught her fist as it flew at his face again.

"Get off me," he growled. "Or—"

"Or what?" Batgirl demanded. "Or I'll end up like—" Her voice broke.

"You might," Dick warned her. He grabbed her other hand and brought his head forward sharply, crashing his forehead into her nose. She reeled back and Dick flipped to his feet and bolted, not trusting himself to teleport. Batgirl flung a batarang at him, but he sensed it coming and instinctively redirected it back at her. He hoped she dodged, but he couldn't look. Even letting out that much power had the rest of it crashing at the walls of his will.

He needed to get away – because after what he'd done, there was certainly no coming back.

 


	19. Southern Italy: Now

**Southern Italy  
 _Now_ **

Dick and Jason both sucked in gasping, harsh breaths as Dick pulled them from the memories that had leaked between their minds, dragging them mentally back to the kitchen floor in the tiny apartment Dick had removed from reality. Dick was still crouched over Jason, hands on either side of his head, while Jason held Dick's wrists in a death-grip. Jason's eyes were open, but he was staring straight ahead, unseeing.

"Jason," Dick said, falling backward to sit with a thump. He dragged Jason with him, gathering him to his chest and rocking slightly. For all that it was vaguely ridiculous to be doing this with such a large human, with Dick's strength it didn't much matter. Dick braced his feet on the ground, knees bent and caging Jason's body between them. He pressed Jason's head to his shoulder. "Jason, wake up, wake up. You're alive, you're here. Wake up, Jay," he murmured to his hair.

Jason jolted suddenly, like an electric current had just run through his body, and he pushed at Dick's chest. Dick let him go easily and Jason shot to his feet, running a hand over his ribs and then over his head, checking, searching for the damage.

"It was a memory," Dick said. "Just a memory. I saw… I saw what you went through, Jason. I felt it. I—" Dick stayed on the floor, crossed his legs and hunched over them. " _Klarion_ ," he growled.

"I saw…" Jason said, but Dick wasn't sure if it was a question, or an echo, or just verbal processing. Then Jason turned to look down at him and Dick could see that his eyes were as sharp as ever. "What happened after. That was your memory?"

Dick nodded.

"And before, when you— he— I could tell he wasn't you, this time. I could see it was an illusion."

"Because I was there in the memory with you. I'd recognize Klarion's power anywhere. He took my shape and used it to—" Dick ground his teeth.

"Or, you want me to think that. You want to rewrite how it actually happened," Jason said.

" _No_ ," Dick snarled, finally standing. "It’s the truth. All these years, I thought I had killed you. I went _back_ to him, after that! I was willing to put myself in his hands, and he— he made me _believe_ — _Everyone_ believed—" Dick took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll kill him." The resolution was sudden and cold and certain.

"Dick—"

"I. Will. Kill him." Dick thrust an arm out and suddenly orange light from the rapidly setting sun came crashing back through the windows. "Let Fate find me. Let her drag me back to the Tower. That's where Klarion is." He gestured again and the one thing the apartment had been missing – a front door – appeared in one of the walls. "He'll be locked up. Powerless. I can do it without unraveling the universe."

"Hang on, this isn't—"

"Go, Jason. We're connected to the real world again, that door leads to a regular hallway in a regular apartment. We're in southern Italy. Unless you want to help me, you should get back to Gotham."

Jason looked from Dick to the door, torn. If what he'd seen in that memory was true, if it really had been Klarion who'd killed him… then what? "Can we think about this for two seconds? Talk it through?"

"That's not how this works," Dick said, somewhat distantly. "If you want vengeance, we can go after it together. If you don't, then don't get in my way."

Jason had options. He could try to stop Dick, stall until Fate arrived, maybe warn her about what Dick was planning to do. Or he could just walk away. Nothing said he had to go back to Batman after this, though that was one choice. Setting up elsewhere, establishing himself, maybe eventually finding his way clear to contacting Damian was another. Or he could vanish. He had the skills.

Fortunately, he was spared having to make a decision, at least for the moment, by the newly forged apartment door bursting open. The person who leapt across the threshold, however, was not Doctor Fate.

"Grayson," said Damian al Ghul, sword at the ready. "I am here to put an end to your madness. Prepare yourself."

 


	20. Gotham: 3 Years Ago

**Gotham  
_3 Years Ago_**

The rooftop of the GCPD was probably not the smartest place for Dick to be after murdering someone, but Dick was not thinking particularly clearly. He'd drawn on his power to get himself away quickly, but didn't trust himself to make more than a short jump. He'd ended up here, leaning against the Batsignal, head in his hands, very, very carefully not thinking about… about the thing he wasn't thinking about.

If someone had come onto the roof, it would have been a problem. But Dick wasn't thinking about that either and luckily it seemed Gordon wasn't dealing with anything bat-worthy at the moment. The signal was dark and Dick was alone.

Sunrise buried him in the signal's shadow twice and he didn't move. He had to be so, so careful how he held his mind, ruthlessly keeping it suspended between thoughts. It wanted him to react to Barbara being Batgirl. It wanted him to play back his encounter with Jason over and over to find the little stitch, the flaw, that said it couldn't have happened. Dick breathed in through his nose to a count of four, held it, exhaled slowly to a count of eight. Again. Klarion kept telling him he didn't need to breathe, but—

Don't think about Klarion.

Now it was night again. The thought was sprouting in the back of Dick's mind that he'd have to move at some point, have to _think_ again at some point. But why, though? What was to stop him from just, say, becoming another gargoyle tucked away in some shadowy corner of the city?

Would Klarion let him escape that easily?

Dick laughed out loud at the thought. _Easily_. How fucked up must he be to think that turning himself to literal stone for the rest of eternity was an easy way out. He laughed again because it felt sort of strange and wonderful (even if the laugh was a little strained, a little high) and then immediately felt guilty because _he'd murdered Jason Todd._

"Oh, no," Dick moaned. "No, no, no."

It was too late. The thought had its claws in him. He saw his whole life funneling down to this exact point, every choice he'd made leading exactly here, to the inescapable fact of a broken body in the back of an alley. He felt the chaos rising in him, or maybe that was nausea. He hugged his knees to his chest and tried to slow down his breathing but he couldn't _count_. His thoughts were racing, his heart was racing, and Jason was staring at him accusingly.

Dick pulled in a harsh gasp and stretched his eyes wide where they'd been clenched shut. But that didn't help – Jason was still staring at him, even younger now, like he'd just climbed onto the roof of the police department for some mischief and was surprised to find Dick there.

No, it wasn't Jason. It was _himself_ , thirteen and staring at his future self accusingly. He'd betrayed everything they were supposed to be. Blue eyes narrowed, small hands hitching his backpack up determinedly, as though he'd just come from Gotham Academy, though his hair was a mess in a definite breach of the Separation of Robin and Dick Statute.

"You should turn yourself in," his small self told his big self.

"Leave me alone," Dick mumbled to his knees.

"Isn't that why you came up here?"

Was it? Dick didn't know. All he knew was that he was incapable of making a decision right now and if he forced himself to, he was going to seriously lose his grip.

"Well if you won't call him, I will," the hallucination said. He stepped around Dick and began feeling around the base of the Batsignal for the activation switch. Dick spun to his feet and grabbed him by the backpack, yanking him off the ground. Younger Dick barely missed a beat slipping out of the straps. He landed in a crouch and swept his foot toward Dick's ankles. Dodging the kick was second nature, as was following up with a counterattack – flinging the backpack at the kid. It knocked him over; the kid was small, and apparently taking a lot of heavy subjects.

Moving had cleared some of the fog from Dick's brain, and he felt his power waking, too. He tamped it down firmly. "No,'' he said. "You stay out of this."

"What _happened_ to you?" the kid demanded, shoving the backpack aside and leaping to his feet, fists clenched. "I know you're still in there, Dick Grayson. You need to come back! Gotham's a mess, Batman's a mess, and whatever happened a few days ago in Crime Alley—"

Dick lunged forward and wrapped a hand around his thirteen-year-old self's throat, lifting him in the air again, ignoring the way he kicked out and clawed at his wrist. "You stay out of this, too," he growled and slammed the kid against the metal side of the Batsignal. "This is as much your fault as it is mine." He let go, let the kid slide down the signal, then backhanded him viciously. His head bounced off the metal and he stumbled. "Cocky, self-sure brat. You think you can handle anything." A fist to the diaphragm to double him over, then an elbow to the back of the head. The kid sprawled at his feet, gasping – or trying to. "Batman never prepared you for this."

He kicked the kid hard enough that he went tumbling across the roof and fetched up against the shallow ledge around the perimeter. He struggled to his feet and Dick took his time stalking toward him. "You think your friends are your strength, but that just means that when you're alone you're _useless_." He aimed a casual punch at the kid, determined to wreck his face. His cheek split open and it was satisfying enough that Dick went for the other side – but the kid blocked that one, arm coming up and defending successfully, if barely. Dick laughed, then grabbed the forearm he'd used to block and snapped it like kindling. The kid screamed and dropped to his knees.

Dick scoffed. "You're supposed to control the pain, you know." He spun into a kick, slamming his heel into his younger self's temple. The kid went down hard, dazed. "Don't let the bad guy see you're hurting." He grabbed him by the ankle.

"You're—," the kid gasped. Dick jerked him up, holding him upside down in front of him. His weight was hardly anything to Dick, not now.

"Oh, yes, by all means, tell me what I am," Dick said.

"You're not the bad guy."

"Then why are you so afraid?" Dick spun, flinging him back across the roof sharply enough that he felt the kid's knee wrench before he left his grip. His back struck the metal bat stretched across the glass of the signal and he gave another shout as he fell to the rooftop. Dick picked him up by the front of his hoodie and slammed him back against the bat. His broken arm hung limply, though he tried gamely with the other to dislodge Dick's grip.

"Don't do this. _Think_ , Dick, this isn't you!" the kid pleaded. Dick grinned and pushed him against the signal harder, not letting up the pressure until the kid screamed again and the metal of the bat creaked. The glass fractured, and so did a few bones directly under Dick's fists where they were balled in his shirt. He kept pushing. He'd push this hallucination straight through the glass and then light him up for Batman to find: the ruins of the child he'd tried to save.

"You… you were my hero," the kid got out.

"Oh, now I _know_ that's a lie. Are you sure you're not hallucinating?" Dick asked with a manic grin. He moved his grip to the kid's face and forcibly turned it to the side, pressing it against the glass. Maybe he'd shred it against the cracked surface, like using a cheese grater.

"You were," the kid insisted, though weakly. There were tears running down his face and Dick nodded. He _should_ cry. "You, Robin. Watching him, you. Never told. Never. Please…"

Dick blinked. "Watching?" He dropped the kid as sudden horrible suspicion grew in him. The kid's face… blue eyes, yes, black hair, yes, small build – but it was _not_ Dick's face. He felt like he'd been wandering a house of mirrors and had just found a window, the kid's features coming sharply into focus. "You're real." One of the kid's eyes was swelling shut and he looked like he was having trouble breathing but he still twitched away when Dick knelt next to him. Dick reached out to touch him, still not _quite_ sure the kid was here – what were the odds of a small, black-haired, blue-eyed boy who _knew his name_ turning up on the roof of the GCPD at the worst possible time?

It didn't matter, Dick decided. He could touch him. He could pick him up, scoop him into his arms like nothing even though it made the kid moan in pain. He was too hurt to move in any way that _wouldn't_ cause him pain. Dick grabbed him, and the backpack, and vanished to the only place he knew could help him quickly, could keep him safe.

He ported to the Manor's front door, remembering at the last second that the Cave had wards that might or might not interfere with his particular type of magic. He lowered the kid, who was no longer conscious, to the step, rang the bell, and hesitated only a moment before vanishing again. If the goal was to make the kid safe, he couldn't stay.

 

Klarion looked up from his worktable when Dick appeared in his pocket dimension in a swirl of energy. "This is new," he commented. "Don't I normally have to drag you back here kicking and screaming?"

"Can it, Klarion," Dick growled. Klarion grinned and flowed sinuously to his feet.

"Are we going to fight, then? Don't you people have a definition of insanity that goes something like this?"

Dick's hands opened and closed at his sides. "I'm not here to fight you," he said finally. "I'm here because I don't care if you get hurt."

"Sure," Klarion said. "You're definitely not, say, on the run from the law?"

Dick hesitated and Klarion's grin spread a little wider. "They wouldn't be able to hold me," Dick said. "I can't let them try. It wouldn't be safe for them."

"That's a pretty excuse," Klarion said. "I know better."

"You don't know me," Dick snapped.

"You don't know yourself," Klarion scoffed. "You know who you _were_. Surprise, you've changed!" He flung his arms wide and Dick flinched, though nothing happened. "You're still changing, in fact. That's how chaos works. You couldn't bear to be locked up now, and that's not your fault," he continued with more patience than Dick had ever seen from him. "It's the chaos in you. They're not going to understand that. But I do."

"That didn't stop you from trying to lock me in a trunk," Dick pointed out.

Klarion waved a hand, dismissing the comment. "That was before. You were breaking. Look at you now. You're more together than you've been in ages." Klarion circled, looking Dick up and down. "Did you finally let yourself live a little? Let the power out to play?"

Dick froze, feeling his mind reel again, back down that hole he'd been avoiding. Klarion, behind him now, hopped into the air a foot or two and hovered, putting his hands on Dick's shoulders.

"Or maybe it's just that you feel safe here," he murmured, close to Dick's ear. Dick spun away from him, snapping back to attention abruptly. Klarion laughed. "Don't worry. Like I said, I understand. I'm not going to lock you up here. I'm not heartless."

"I built this pocket dimension for you. You couldn't keep me here if you tried; I'd take it apart even easier than your last one," Dick said.

"Your _power_ built this place," Klarion corrected. "You couldn't manage a hovel at your current skill level. But it doesn't matter, because like I said, I'm not gonna keep you here. Though if you want to stay, I guess I could help you out."

"I don't need your help," Dick said immediately.

"Oh really? So it's just coincidence that you're hiding here, holed up with the one being who could stop you if you started to lose it?" Klarion made a claw of his hand and twisted his wrist to illustrate, beckoning Dick's power to him. Dick snarled and yanked it back.

"Hands off."

"Price of my hospitality, Witchwing."

"Don't—"

"Don't be tedious. I'll call you what I want until you can stop me," Klarion said with a roll of his eyes. "It's a good deal, pet. I keep you from bubbling over on a cosmic scale, give you a roof over your head, and your power is mine to call on when I need it."

"No way," Dick said flatly. "You could just use me to nuke the universe whenever you feel like it."

"To be fair, I could do that anyway. It's not like you've had much success stopping me," Klarion said. He sounded grouchy about it, too. "But I've got plans for this universe. Light plans. And as much as it sucks having to be this organized, the end result is going to be so catastrophic it's worth it. So no nuking anything, at least until then."

Dick smiled his best, camera-ready smile at Klarion. "Then I guess you're not going to let me lose control that badly anyway," he said sweetly. "Thanks for the tip."

Klarion gaped at him. Then he glared. "All right, _fine_. You don't want to be part of the team? Get out." This last statement was accompanied by a clap of thunder and a sudden plummeting sensation in the pit of Dick's stomach as Klarion metaphysically shoved him out of the workshop.

Dick floundered, flailing through empty space for a few seconds before he landed face-first on Earth. It took him a second to get his bearings, but according to his extra senses, Klarion had tossed him directly to Rhode Island. Dick shivered and teleported himself away immediately; that was way too close to way too many heroes for comfort.

He landed in Wyoming – because if you wanted middle-of-nowhere, that was a good bet – with Klarion's voice echoing around him: _And don't come back!_ Dick felt his way back to the pocket dimension suddenly cut off, leaving him stranded on this plane of existence.


	21. Portugal: A Few Hours Ago

**Portugal  
_A Few Hours Ago_**

Damian let Batman's two protégés go. There would be time enough to deal with them later, when he was ready. For now, Todd was the priority.

That was what he told himself as his head cleared and he leaned heavily against the locked-down Batplane. Choosing to focus on his mission was not the same as admitting that they were probably already through a zeta tube and out of his reach.

He looked up at the stark black plane above him, considering. _You can't hack the Batplane_ , Robin had said. Well, he didn't have to.

"Engage voice recognition. Batplane, open," Damian said, mimicking Bruce Wayne's voice perfectly. There was plenty of footage of Bruce from events, parties, scandals, business deals… Damian had added his voice to his repertoire ages ago.

The Batplane didn't respond. Damian scowled. He was certain it would be equipped with voice controls, so the problem was probably with his voice. Or rather, with Bruce Wayne's voice. It would be just like the Batman (based on what Talia had told him) to program it to recognize Batman's voice and _not_ Bruce Wayne's. And there weren't enough audio files of Batman speaking for Damian to have developed a near enough approximation of the differences.

That pretender, though… he'd said plenty during their fight.

Damian cleared his throat and said a few vocal test phrases, adjusting his pitch and pattern. "Engage voice recognition. Batplane, open," Damian said again when he thought he had it, this time imitating Robin.

The hatch hissed open.

Inside, a screen showed a completed diagnostic indicating exactly what Damian already knew: that his EMP had knocked out nav and flight systems and that the plane would be fine after a reboot. Damian had his own transport, though. What he needed was a route.

That he found, along with a very interesting device he almost mistook for sonar. When he realized it was a device for detecting and tracking fluctuations of chaotic energy, he revised his plan, abandoning his own transport to fly the Batplane, even though it had no pilot's seat and would easily be tracked as soon as Robin reported back to Batman.

No matter. Damian planned to have things well in hand by then.

 

**Southern Italy  
_Now_**

"Grayson," Damian said, looking his opponent over for the first time. He looked… human. Except for that mask. "I am here to put an end to your madness. Prepare yourself."

Dick cocked his head, peering at Damian like he was a complex sentence that needed diagramming. A child, dressed like a member of the League of Assassins but vaguely familiar-looking, the way Tim Drake had been. But it wasn't himself this kid was reminding him of. Dick glanced over to Jason. "Is this… are you seeing this kid?"

Jason had been wondering the same thing himself, and couldn't find the words to reply before Damian leapt at Dick. Dick looked at him incredulously and waved a hand, brushing Damian right out of the air and into the wall next to the balcony doors. Damian landed on his feet and threw a few smoke bombs, filling the small space with opaque blue-gray clouds. They did more to hinder Jason than they did Dick, of course.

Jason felt along the wall, heading for where Damian had been a moment ago. "Stop," he called into the smoke. "You can't fight him, Damian!"

A grunt of pain floated out of the haze, and then the clatter of a sword hitting the floor. Jason lunged toward the sound and collided with Dick. The impact didn't move Dick at all, and Jason clung to him, finding his arm and clamping on to it. "Dick, I swear to God if you hurt him—"

The smoke abruptly sucked itself out through the still-open door with a small whoosh. Dick looked over his shoulder at Jason. The arm Jason wasn't hanging on to was raised in the air. He had Damian by the front of his tunic. "You know this kid?"

"Don't speak to him, monster," Damian spat. Dick gave him a shake and Damian responded by stabbing a small knife into Dick's wrist. Jason noticed that there were already two others there. Dick snarled and flung Damian across the room. The kid landed smoothly and dodged the three knives Dick thoughtfully returned to him point-first.

Jason jumped between them. "You want to hurt him, you go through me," he told Dick, his voice steady though his heart was in his throat.

The eyes of Dick's mask narrowed. "You're not thinking clearly. He's League of Assassins. One of the ones who locked you up in the dark."

"You wouldn't know clear thinking if it bit you on the ass. Back off."

"Stand aside, Todd. I do not need you to fight my battles," Damian said from behind him.

Dick scowled and advanced on Jason. He was a little surprised when Jason held his ground, even when Dick was nearly chest-to-chest with him. "Not that I don't appreciate the newfound confidence, little wing," Dick said. "But now's not the time." Invisible tendrils of power plucked Jason up by the arms and tugged him gently but irresistibly out of the way, holding him off the ground.

"Damn it, Dick, don't you _dare_ do this to me!" Jason yelled, struggling ineffectively.

"Unhand him!" Damian demanded. He'd retrieved his sword and charged Dick.

Dick let the sword take him in the stomach without a hint of resistance. It pierced him all the way through. The first inkling of unease flicked across Damian's face right before Dick kicked him in the head and sent him sprawling. Dick pulled the sword back out of himself and stalked toward Damian, who was getting to his feet unsteadily.

"I bet you'd like this back," Dick said, giving the sword a twirl.

"Do it, then," Damian snarled, meeting his eyes without flinching.

"He's Bruce's son!" Jason shouted desperately. Both Damian's and Dick's eyes snapped to him, though Dick's returned to Damian almost immediately.

He could see it. That glare was _familiar,_ even if the face was younger, softer. He'd thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. He'd been down that path before, though, and it had ended with a dead Robin and a nearly-dead soon-to-be Robin.

"That sounds like the kind of thing you might say to get me to stop, little wing," Dick said.

"Doesn't mean it's not true. Damian, tell him," Jason insisted.

Damian scowled. "My parentage is not—"

Dick thrust the heel of his hand into Damian's forehead, snapping his head back and then palming it like a basketball. He and Damian both went very still for a few seconds and then Dick dropped him. Damian fell to his knees, blinking rapidly.

"Your mental defenses are almost as good as Ra's'," Dick said. But he hadn't had to go deep. He'd seen enough: Glimpses of furtive research, intense curiosity about the man he'd been told was his father. Whether it was true or not… Damian thought it was. And his determination to protect Jason was sincere. It was enough. "You want Jason? Take him. I can't help him." He released his hold on Jason, who dropped back to the ground with a grunt and went immediately to Damian's side. "Take him to Bruce," Dick told Damian. "I've got a witch boy to kill."

Damian scoffed. He batted away Jason's offered hand and stood on his own. "I will do no such thing. He has a place with the League—"

Dick snarled and surged forward, a cloud of blackness billowing around him. He grabbed Damian by the throat, ignoring Jason's attempts to stop him, and lifted him high. "A place that involves torture? Killing?" He tightened his grip. "Take. Him. To. Bruce."

Jason's fist connecting with Dick's face didn't actually hurt, but it did surprise him. He looked over at Jason, lowering Damian slightly. "And what if I don't want to go back to Bruce?" Jason asked quietly, keeping one eye on Damian's breathing.

"Jason," Dick started.

"No. You don't get to decide what's best for me." He glanced at Damian. "Neither of you do. But." Jason bit his lip, considering his next words very carefully, well aware he couldn't take them back. "I'll go if you go."

"Jason—"

"Put Damian down before you try to talk me into anything," Jason warned.

Dick dropped Damian with a little scoff and Jason put his hand on Damian's shoulder to stop him from trying to stab Dick again.

"This is foolishness," Damian said. "Come along, Todd. I have made arrangements for you. You will not have to return to that cell."

"Oh no you don't," Dick said. "You take him to Gotham or all bets are off and I stop playing nice with you."

"Both of you, shut up," Jason said. "Dick, you heard my terms. You want to atone for my death, that's how. Go back to Gotham, hear Bruce out. If whatever he's got planned doesn't work, I'll bust you out myself. Damian will help me."

"I will?" Damian said, skeptical.

"You owe me."

"Tt. I suppose it is acceptable that your first mission as my honor guard be to escort me to a meeting with my father. It is well past time I met him anyway."

"Yeah, we'll talk about that honor guard thing later," Jason said. "Well, Dick? What's it gonna be?"

"If it doesn't work, you'll help me escape – _and_ consent to being my anchor," Dick countered.

"He will _not_ ," Damian exclaimed.

"I'll _consider_ the anchor thing," Jason offered. "That's the best I can do." He didn't add that he'd already considered it, extensively, and he didn't foresee his decision changing.

Dick eyed Jason for a few moments while Damian made outraged noises at Jason's apparent concession. "What will you do if I refuse?" Dick asked. The upper points of his mask were curling up toward his hairline, mimicking horns. Jason shrugged.

"Like the kid says, I've got a place with the League of Assassins."

Dick's mask flared as his fists clenched. "I could stop you."

"You really want to go down that path again?" Jason asked, crossing his arms (partially to hide the slight tremor in his hands). "How will I die this time, Dick? Or will it be Bruce's son you kill?"

Dick actually flinched and Jason felt the smallest sliver of guilt. He buried it ruthlessly.

"Fine," Dick said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You'll come along without trying to kill anyone? Keep the chaos under control?" Jason pressed.

Dick glared at him. "Chaos doesn't _do_ control," he said. "But… I'll come along. I'll listen. I'll… _try_. If that's what you need me to do."

 

They ended up taking the Batplane, since Jason very much did not want to travel by chaos magic, and Dick was admittedly unsure of what his power would do with his emotions in the state they were in. Neither Dick's nor Jason's voice was programmed to control the plane any longer so Damian used Tim's voice to get them off the ground, and then it was just a matter of telling the plane to go home. With the pilot's seat gone three people fit a little better than they would have otherwise, but it was still tight.

As soon as they reached altitude, Jason started pawing through drawers, some of which Dick hadn't even known about, their seams invisible until you pressed a certain spot. Spare dominos, antidotes, weaponry…

"What are you looking for?" Damian finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Ration bars. I'd rather avoid fainting from hunger. I _know_ he keeps some— ah." Jason waved one triumphantly when he found the stash and then tore into it. He continued browsing the inventory of the plane more casually, chewing slowly but steadily as he opened more compartments

Damian was livid. "You _starved_ him?" he demanded of Dick.

"Not on purpose," Dick said. "And don't act like he was getting three squares with you. He's skin and bones!"

"That was not under my control," Damian said through gritted teeth, hand straying toward his sword again. Magic sparked around Dick's fingers in response.

"So Bruce had sex with Talia, huh!" Jason said loudly, still focusing on his inventory instead of looking at the people he was currently sharing very close quarters with – particularly Dick.

Damian winced and Dick grimaced. " _Talia_ 's your mom? Wait, how old are you, anyway?"

"Ten," Damian answered tersely.

"Ten? Bruce… Bruce was running around with Talia when I was twelve? I was still Robin! When the hell did he manage to have a _kid_?"

"I assure you, his part was entirely unwitting and quickly over," Damian said. Jason snorted. "More importantly," Damian went on, directing his words at Jason. "How did you know?"

"I didn't _know_. Not for sure. I figured it was wishful thinking on my part, honestly. Wanting to see some piece of my life. Proof that that life wasn't just a Pit-dream…" Jason trailed off, studying the contents of the latest compartment he'd opened with some intensity.

Something popped near the navigation console. Dick was sparking again.

"Damn it, Grayson, get yourself under control!" Damian snapped.

"How can you listen to him talk like that and not hate yourself for what your family did to him?" Dick demanded right back.

"Dick," Jason said, fishing something out of the drawer and holding it out to him.

Manacles. A set Dick was quite familiar with. He stepped back, or tried to. There was nowhere to go. "Where did you—"

"They were in here. Am I right about what these symbols are for?" Jason asked, running his thumb over the silvered etching. Damian inspected the metal in his hands curiously, but said nothing.

"They're for me," Dick confirmed.

"Robin would have brought them if he was planning to confront you, I guess," Jason said.

"At least his strategy wasn't to just run at me waving a sword," Dick muttered. "Are you planning on making me wear those?"

"If we want to make it across the Atlantic in the same shape we began—" Damian started, but Jason cut him off with a glare.

"I won't make you," Jason said. "But I am asking you."

"Why the _hell_ would I do a thing like that?" Something sparked behind him and Dick flinched guiltily. Jason raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't make me say it," he said.

"I get it. You died once because I lost control. After I hear what Bruce has to say, after it _doesn't work_ , you don't get to use that as leverage anymore," Dick snarled. He closed his eyes and thrust out his wrists. "Hurry."

Jason blinked, surprised, but wasted no time snapping the cuffs around Dick's wrists. Dick shuddered, his whole body giving a visible shake, and opened his eyes. "Remember, you promised," he said, voice a little breathy. "Don't let them keep me. If it fails. Don't let them lock me up."

Jason nodded. "I promise."

Damian looked between them, thoughtful, then turned away to check the plane's instruments for damage.


	22. The Watchtower: 3 Years Ago

**The Watchtower  
_3 Years Ago_**

Superman was on monitor duty at the Watchtower, and glad of it. His part of the world was well on its way to dawn and it had been, even for him, a long day. It had started at the _Planet_ early that morning, with the front page headline – under the fold and a little off to the side, but front-page nonetheless:

_Wayne Quietly Mourns Adopted Son_

Jason Todd was dead and Bruce hadn't told anyone. The funeral was already over. No one had any details. Bruce wasn't answering his phone or his com.

"Master Bruce has requested privacy," Alfred had said when Clark finally got him to pick up.

"What about you, Alfred?" Clark had asked.

There had been a pause filled, to Clark's ears, with the staticky inner workings of a telephone. "I am grieving, Mr. Kent. And I am worried." Apparently Bruce hadn't slept more than a few minutes together in four days, not since it had happened. He hadn't been upstairs, left the Cave only to deal with incidents in Gotham – incidents Alfred wasn't sure really needed his attention; more like Bruce needed the excuse.

"Alfred, anything I can do to help—"

"I know. And so does he. But at this point he would only push you further away."

The conversation had ended there and Clark had gone through the rest of his day in a vague way, settling to a task only to be jerked upright over and over as the thought struck him afresh: Robin was dead. And here was the world, still bustling along.

Monitor duty was a relief, even if the others, the ones who knew, all looked at him expectantly when he arrived. No one in the world _hadn't_ heard that Bruce Wayne's son had died, but only a few of the League knew that that meant they'd lost one of their own. He could only shake his head sadly, disappointing them. If he hadn't been able to get answers, they all knew they didn't stand a chance. Even Batgirl hadn't reached out, hadn't been seen around Mount Justice or the Watchtower for days.

Now Superman's thumb hovered over the button that would let him try to open a video line to the Batcave, but he didn't press it. Thus, he was rather startled when a video window opened anyway. Batman scowled down at him.

"Bruce," Superman said. "Are you—"

"Doctor Fate. Where is he."

"I'm not sure you should be—"

"He left the Watchtower according to the zeta logs, but no destination was recorded. What's his mission."

"He's not on one," Superman said. "Not for the League, anyway. Maybe he went back to the Tower of Fate? You know the logs get weird when he uses magic too soon after teleporting."

"Hm. I'll find him myself."

He was definitely about to log off. "Bruce, wait," Superman said, reaching out a hand involuntarily, like he could grab his shoulder and keep him there. Batman did wait, though. "Can I help? Any of us. We've all heard."

"I don't need your help."

"Okay," Clark said. Then he took a deep breath and plunged in. "Dick's not answering his coms, either."

Batman's jaw clenched – harder than usual – and the connection terminated abruptly. Clark flung himself back in his chair with a strong enough huff that it lifted the curl off his forehead. Dick had vanished for a little while last year and the whole League had been worried. Clark himself had done a planet-wide sweep for him. Then he'd cropped up again with a deep cover explanation… and then vanished again just as thoroughly. Batman had gotten typically territorial about it and the League had backed off, but now this?

"Sometimes in order to help a friend, you must disrespect his wishes," Diana said softly. Clark whirled.

"You heard?"

"I did. Something is not right in Gotham. If our friend is not strong enough to ask for help, we must lend him strength of our own accord."

"You mean, go snooping around?" Clark asked, with an uneasy look at the dark monitor where Batman had been a few seconds before

"I mean go snooping around," Diana agreed.


	23. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
 _Now_**

Batman and Batgirl had tried their damnedest to get Tim out of the Batcave before the wayward Batplane returned home. They'd had plenty of warning; whoever was flying it wasn't trying to be stealthy, hadn't even attempted to conceal their flight path or block any communications. The video link wasn't working, though, and the coms were… sketchy. As far as they could tell, the plane contained one chaos lord and two unknowns, but Batman was fully prepared for it to be packed full of C4 instead.

Still, he allowed it to land in the Cave when he could have reprogrammed the flight path and directed it anywhere else. Robin wasn't convinced that decision had anything to do with the fact that Dick had threatened to bolt if they met anywhere else; he rather thought it had more to do with the other voice that had crackled across the coms first. The one Dick had claimed belonged to Jason Todd.

Tim had read the files Batman had created after his encounter with the Nightwing from the other dimension, including the private notes he wasn't supposed to have seen regarding what Batman had asked that version of Nightwing about certain events in the other dimension. What Dick was claiming about Jason was possible, especially with Dick's power. If he'd defiled a Lazarus Pit, that would explain the presence of Ra's' heir as well (though not what the kid was doing on a trans-Atlantic flight with Dick instead of exacting revenge on him).

So the plane landed in the hangar and Batman closed both sets of blast doors, sealing it off from the rest of the cave and blocking the exit. The wards on the Batcave and manor had been repaired and expanded since Teekl had damaged them in the process of getting at Nightwing several months ago, so if Dick was on that plane he would no longer be able to teleport away. And of course they were all armed with the various measures against chaos magic that Fate and Batman had developed over the course of the last three years.

Batman gave Robin one last look, which Robin stubbornly returned. _Yes_ , he had had a little trouble getting into uniform tonight because raising his arms too quickly or too far pulled his stitches, but he was fine. And in the end he had promised – actually promised – to make a strategic retreat if things went wrong. He already had a repeating alert out for Doctor Fate, who had been called off-world (and possibly off-dimension) abruptly on Order business. The call had come right after she'd confronted Nightwing when he'd randomly showed up on the physical plane for more than a few seconds and may or may not have been related to the fight that followed. The alert would let her know what was happening as soon as she was in range, which would hopefully be soon.

The hangar was monitored, of course, and they all watched the screen carefully as the cockpit of the plane opened. The first one out was a tall man, hair long enough to have to be tied back from his face, dressed all in black except for a brown leather jacket. He hopped easily to the wing and then to the ground, stretching. He was followed swiftly by a child, cloaked and hooded, sword strapped to his back

"Ra's supposed heir," Batgirl said, though she couldn't see his face. The clothes were the same, as was the sword. He moved the same way. Tim wished he hadn't promised to back off if it came to a fight. His stab wound was itching.

Damian took in the hangar at a glance, then marched over to the doors that would give him entrance to the rest of the cave, crossed his arms, and waited, radiating impatience. Jason started to follow, then looked back to the plane.

"Dick, come on."

"Excuse me for not moving faster. I'm a little tied up," Dick said acerbically.

"Guess relying on magic ain't all it's cracked up to be," Jason said.

Dick scoffed and hopped to the rim of the cockpit, balancing there for a moment before leaping into a mid-air somersault and landing at Jason's side with a smirk. Jason took a hasty step backward and the smirk went flat.

"Are those the real deal?" Batgirl asked, eyeing the cuffs around Dick's wrists.

"I did leave a pair in the plane," Robin said. "They look right, but no guarantees they haven't been tampered with. What do you think, B?"

Batman was intent on the screen and didn't answer. Robin couldn't see his eyes behind the cowl's lenses but he would guess that for once they weren't focused on Dick. He'd be analyzing the man who claimed to be Jason.

Robin hadn't looked too closely at him. He did now. The man was tall, definitely taller than Jason-as-Robin had been, but of course it had been years. There was a white streak in his hair that Jason Todd as Tim had known him had certainly never had. He looked underfed, but moved like a warrior, confident. Except when he looked at Dick. Robin could relate.

The three of them were gathered at the hangar door, now. Dick kicked it a few times. "Oh well," he said. "Looks like no one's home. Good try, Jay, but let's go back to the revenge plan."

"We are _not_ turning back now," Damian said.

"You can stay here," Dick allowed graciously. "We'll just stick you in a basket with a note pinned to your diaper."

Damian's hand went to his sword and Batman chose that moment to open the door. It startled all of them, and Batgirl and Robin stepped quickly to shadow him to the entrance, fanning out slightly to either side of him.

Jason and Dick stared at the door as it slid back, neither moving.

"Oh for pity's sake," Damian said, and marched through without them. Jason stuttered into motion after him, then stopped, looking back to Dick when he didn't move.

"Yeah, yeah," Dick said. "I promised." His feet felt like they were encased in concrete blocks, though. He couldn't bring himself to move at much more than a shuffle. _What's an oath to a chaos lord?_ He twisted his wrists in the manacles.

The two trios came to a halt a few yards apart, Dick, Jason, and Damian in something of a ragged line compared to Batman, Batgirl, and Robin's battle-ready formation.

Batman's eyes went from Jason, to Dick, to Damian, piecing things together, trying to see the connections, trying to see some proof that this really, truly was Jason and not some trick.

"You made some changes," Jason said and Robin started, realizing he was addressing him. "To the costume." Jason's hands were fists at his sides. Nervousness? Anger? Robin wasn't sure.

"Uh, updates," Robin said. "This tunic's a spare though since I haven't had time for repairs since your friend there stabbed me and—"

"Robin," Batman said. Robin realized he was rambling. Something in him definitely believed that that was Jason Todd, the Robin he'd idolized, standing right there commenting on his outfit. Robin swallowed hard.

"You're lucky it was only a minor wound," Damian scoffed. "I sincerely hope you make a better showing next time, pretender."

"Is that why you're here?" Batgirl asked. "For a rematch? Because you might as well pack up and go home. It's not happening."

"Stay out of it, girl," Damian said.

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Batgirl growled.

"Batgirl," Batman said warningly.

"Oh hell no, B," Batgirl shot back. "He clearly came here to pick a fight. What kind of hosts would we be to refuse?"

Dick snorted. "What happened to 'not happening'?"

"Don't start with me Dick, you're next on my list."

"Get in line."

Things might have deteriorated from there, but for the innocuous clink of china that stopped everyone cold.

Alfred wheeled a tea service between the two groups, ignoring the tension in the air. When he was solidly between them, he poured. He went to Dick first, placing one fragile porcelain cup in his bound hands. Dick took it, bewildered, and Alfred moved on to the others, giving Jason a long look and a gentle touch on the shoulder, and Damian a more considering look before placing the cup and saucer in his hands with a small nod.

Dick looked down at the cup he was holding, the gold rim, the pattern of russet leaves and blossoms carefully painted near the base, the graceful point of the handle that had always reminded Dick of elf ears. Alfred's favorite set, and very difficult to replace. He held the cup a little closer to his chest and the scent of bergamot reached his nose. He was drinking before he realized what he was doing, and he wasn't the only one.

"There, now," Alfred said, looking at the group with satisfaction. "If there is anything else you should require, simply ring and I shall attend you." He gave them a nod and made a stately retreat.

Jason had actual tears in his eyes, though he was trying to ignore them. Batgirl had noticed anyway and was watching him intently, analyzing, though she still held her distance.

"Well," Damian said. "At least someone in this household is civilized."

"Maybe," Batman said slowly, holding his own saucer and cup very carefully. "You should explain what brings you here."

"Grayson and Todd are here because they blackmailed each other into coming. I am here to meet you."

"Really," Batman said flatly.

"Yes. Hello, father."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that Jason is going through all of this with his hair in a messy bun <3


	24. Earth: ~3 Years Ago

**Earth  
_Approximately 3 Years Ago_ **

Dick wished he'd paid more attention in physics class. Then maybe he'd be able to parse out exactly which force acting upon him was making his teeth itch. Really, Earth had far too much going on; gravity, air drag, the magnetic pull of the poles, friction, inertia, the frankly ridiculous speed at which it was hurtling through space… and all of it was assaulting Dick at once.

He tried to ignore it, but the problem was he was trying to focus. And when he tried to focus, all his senses – the new and the old – kicked into overdrive to helpfully give him more input (and, he suspected, lure him into doing something messy, flashy, or both).

When Klarion had kicked him out, Dick had flung himself across the continent so as not to be found by any of his old friends. He'd quickly decided, however, that he wouldn't mind being found by his old enemies. Or the other way around. Chaos magic wasn't great with locating specifics, but Lex Luthor was pretty easy to find anyway since he, ostensibly, had no real reason to hide. Dick planned to make him tell where Ra's, Slade, and Savage had ended up.

He didn't get that far. Klarion had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck before he'd disturbed two molecules of Metropolis air, warned him not to go after any of the Light, and then deposited him on the highest peak of Mount Everest.

So he'd decided to be sneakier, slipping in and out of shadows in a more literal way than Batman had ever taught him, which was how he found out the Light were 1: being systematically tossed into prison by Batman and 2: trying to salvage the remains of what had looked like the beginnings of a profitable alliance with some alien empire called the Reach. Dick was currently in the process of decoding their communications by the simple expedient of hovering near the satellite they were using and convincing his brain that it could interpret radio waves.

It was surprisingly soothing. Sure, the part about the Reach planting magnetic field disruptors around the planet was a little disturbing but otherwise Dick wasn't particularly concerned with these people. They relied an awful lot on technology (on _scarabs,_ where had he heard of those before?) and technology was notoriously susceptible to little sparks of chaos.

Dick hopped around the planet turning each and every magnetic field disruptor into a pumpkin. Klarion didn't seem to notice. Dick hoped that was because he was finally getting a handle on sneaking around using his power, and not because the field disruptors were unimportant to Klarion's plans. If he was inadvertently helping the Light, he was going to be really annoyed.

He'd just finished squashing an especially well-hidden device at the North Pole when a sudden shiver – having nothing to do with the chill – curled over his entire body. It felt like someone had licked the inside of his skin. He turned warily.

"Dick Grayson," Doctor Fate intoned. "You are an affront to Order."

"Hello to you too," Dick muttered.

"Come quietly and I will see that you are not harmed."

"Come quietly _where_?" Dick asked.

"The Tower of Fate. It is the only construct which might hold one such as you."

"Hold?" Dick took a step back. "Did Batman send you?"

"I know only that great workings of chaos have swept the planet these past days. Batman has kept your unfortunate condition from all of us, but no longer. Come, submit to Order."

The chaos in Dick's veins raged and shrieked. "I don't think I can do that," Dick said, fighting down mad laughter.

Fate's body language didn't change. He simply flung out a hand and a glowing golden ankh shoved through the air at Dick. Dick leapt, twisted, arched his body, and speared right through the loop at the top, landing in a crouch. "Bad idea, Doc," he said. He could feel the edges of the mask crawling up toward his hairline, curling over his temples. "You should be going after Klarion, not me."

"Klarion's greatest crime at the moment is you. Accept your fate."

Another ankh blazed through the air and Dick hesitated almost too long before dodging, spinning out of the way with bare millimeters to spare. Shouldn't he submit? If there was anyone on the planet capable of controlling him (other than Klarion) it was Doctor Fate. _But shouldn't you make him prove it?_ part of Dick's mind suggested. It was a good point. He wouldn't want to get to the heart of the Tower and discover Fate _couldn't_ handle him after all. He could do a lot of damage there.

Lashing out was a relief. Dick called down darkness. Fate's power flared gold, shoving it back, but that was fine. The darkness hadn't been an attack; just cover. Sneak attacks and using the environment to his advantage were Dick's strengths and he wasn't about to forego them just because Fate had picked a fight on a tundra. He cast phantoms of himself throughout the darkness, something for Fate to find as he blasted portions of it away. Meanwhile, the real Dick rapidly grew a few mirror-bright spires of ice to duck around and launch himself from so that when the darkness finally dissipated entirely, the terrain was completely different.

Fate _hmm_ 'd and simply shot straight up into the air, hovering. Dick crouched out of sight in a narrow crevice. When golden chains shot down, bursting the icy peaks and cliffs he'd made, Dick pounced. He snatched one of the chains out of the air and _yanked_.

It burned, but Dick was stubborn. Fate faltered in the air and Dick gave another hard pull, wrapping the chain around his forearm for more leverage. When Fate was off balance, Dick sped through the air, under and around him, wrapping him in the chain he still held.

"The thing about order," Dick said. "Is that it has rules. And even you have to follow them." Fate's arms were pinned to his sides and a coil of the chain had gone around his neck. Dick snapped the end he was holding downward, sending Fate crashing to the tundra. When Dick finally let go of the chain, his hands were smoking slightly. He could tell it would take a while to heal from that, but the rush he was feeling right now… worth it. There was something _right_ about fighting Fate. He felt in tune with himself for the first time in months.

Dick shook his head rapidly, dropping from the sky to land at the struggling Fate's side. What kind of a thought was that? Fate was a good guy. Fighting him was _wrong_.

Then again, Fate had taken Zatanna's father from her. Had threatened to take both Wally and Kaldur. He couldn't be all good.

Pain throbbed behind Dick's eyes.

"The bonds of order cannot hold back Fate for long," Fate warned him.

"Oh _shut up_ ," Dick snarled. He drew a foot back and kicked Fate solidly in the temple, making sure plenty of his power was behind it. The eyes of the helm flashed white and Fate went limp. Dick stared down at him in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be that… easy. He dropped to his knees, hands reaching for the helm before he had even thought what he might do with it.

"T'nod hcuot!"

A bright spark and _pop_ knocked Dick on his ass. Zatanna fixed him with a level glare, not showing the least concern for the cold.

"When did you teleport in?" Dick wondered, looking up at her.

"Just now. Batgirl told me everything, Nightwing, and I knew my— Doctor Fate would be after you. Give it up. Batman's looking for you right now."

"Oh good, then I have at least a couple months before he gets anywhere near me," Dick said, not bothering to stand. "If you know what I've done, why aren't you attacking me?"

"Because," Zatanna said, her voice softening just a touch. "We want to help you. We want to understand what happened. But," she went on, steel in her words now. "If I have to hold you down to make you listen, I will."

Dick threw back his head and laughed. "You can't," he said between gasps for breath. "Nowhere near. As long as you keep trying to _help_ , you'll come up short. There's no helping me." He punctuated this statement by abruptly melting the ice under Zatanna's feet, right down to the water line. She plunged out of sight.

"See?" Dick said to the empty air. He shook his head and vanished. He was sick of snow.

 

Batman was only slightly slower than Zatanna in locating Doctor Fate, but by the time he reached the North Pole he was too late. Doctor Fate was just Zatara. Zatanna was kneeling next to him on the ice, the helm in her hands, eyes closed.

Batman jumped from the plane and approached, first checking Zatara's vitals and, when he found them stable, assessing Zatanna and trying to gauge whether it would be safe to interrupt whatever she was doing. Before he could come to a decision, her eyes opened, flaring gold once, and then returning to normal.

"What happened here?" Batman demanded, removing his cape and settling it over Zatara. Without the power of the helm, he was far underdressed for the climate.

"Nightwing happened," Zatanna said. "Asshole dropped me through the ice and took off. I'm fine, dad's fine." She hefted the helm in one hand. "Nobu's fine."

Batman noted that Zatanna didn't appear to be any worse for the wear for having taken a dip in sub-zero temperatures, but that was magic-users for you. "And without a host again," he commented neutrally. He took a dim view of the spirit of the helm's proclivity for hijacking heroes, but he wouldn't deny he _needed_ Fate right now. If he had to…

"Not without a host," Zatanna said, getting to her feet. "He's mine now."

"Zatanna…"

"I'm well aware of the ramifications. Nobu and I have come to an understanding." Her eyes on him were sharp, daring him to challenge her.

"You're doing this because of Dick."

"Damn right I am. He's… _wrong_. I've never known him to have any magical ability, and what he did here is, is twisted. It's sloppy. It's _dangerous_ , not just for anyone who runs into him. He needs to be locked up, and I'm the best person for the job." She stuck her chin out stubbornly.

"I won't argue with you," Batman said. He meant it. She was well on her way to becoming stronger than her father, and she was more creative, more adaptable, more fearless. If she truly had an understanding with Nobu, then she could be exactly what the situation called for. "But Fate has been clashing with Klarion for ages. He always escapes at some point. We need a better solution."

Zatanna arched an eyebrow at him. "You have one?"

"I will. I need access to the Tower of Fate."

Zatanna glanced down at the helm under her arm. "You've asked for that before."

"When I was constructing the wards for the Batcave."

"There are secrets in the Tower Nobu doesn't want you knowing about," Zatanna said bluntly and Batman realized she was communing with the helm right now.

"I know. My access was restricted last time. But if I'm going to figure out a solution, I'll need access to all the knowledge I can get."

"We," Zatanna said. "If _we're_ going to figure out a solution."

Batman matched her gaze, then nodded once, slowly.

"All right then. Let's get my dad somewhere warm. Then we've got a chaos lord to catch."

 


	25. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Dick was in a cell again. If he'd thought the twin revelations of Jason being alive and Damian being Bruce's son would be enough to take the scrutiny off of him, he'd been only partially correct. Damian had made his announcement bluntly and Batman had reacted in a typical fashion: with skepticism and a DNA test. He wanted one for Jason too, of course, and as long as he was making demands, he also wanted Dick somewhere he could keep an eye on him. Apparently being cuffed and behind the Cave's wards wasn't good enough.

Dick had expected a repeat of what had happened a few months ago, when his other self had caught him: to be dragged to the cell and left while Bruce dealt with his other sons. But, while Batman did vanish after wordlessly leaving him in the quarantine cell, he returned only minutes later. And instead of watching Dick through the window or speaking with him through the intercom system, he entered the cell.

Dick watched him warily, his back to the far wall. Batman stopped in front of him and slowly reached out a hand to grasp the bar connecting the manacles, making his movements obvious. Dick sneered at him but let him lift his wrists and study the cuffs from all sides, running fingers over the etchings.

"Hm," Batman said. Then one of his hands disappeared into his cape and came out holding an identical pair of cuffs. "If those are the real thing, you won't mind switching." The cuffs on Dick's wrists looked and felt real to Batman, but it was still possible he only _thought_ he was seeing the appropriate symbols.

Dick didn't answer him, just left his hands outstretched, fists clenched. The key to the cuffs was a small golden circle with a strip of iron across the middle. It had to be placed in the appropriate spot to disrupt the symbols on the cuffs and open them. Batman did it one at a time, freeing one wrist and snapping on the new cuff before doing the other. Dick behaved himself and filed away the information about the key for future reference. Jason would need it to help spring him when this all came crashing down around their ears.

When Dick was restrained to his satisfaction, Batman stepped back, giving Dick a few more feet of space. "Batgirl and Robin are running the samples from Damian and… Jason," Batman said. "They seem as willing to cooperate as you are. Why is that?"

"I'm not here for a heart-to-heart," Dick said. "Just do what you're going to do and get it over with."

"We need to wait for Doctor Fate to return." Batman checked the manacles he'd taken off of Dick one last time before slipping them away to wherever he'd pulled the others from. "When she does, we'll begin. The procedure is a magical ritual designed to isolate the chaos inside of you. If all goes well, we should be able to pull it out of you and bind it to something else."

"And if all doesn't go well?" Dick asked, his voice quiet.

"You'll be no worse off than you are now."

Dick had never been able to tell when Batman was lying to him, and he had no special insight now. "Just… make sure it doesn't kill me in the process, okay?" There was less bravado and contempt in his voice than he would have liked. Even sarcasm didn't seem to be working for him, and he couldn't meet Batman's eyes.

"Dick," Batman said. His fists clenched and unclenched and then he shoved his cowl off with more force than was needed.

Dick blinked. He hadn't seen Bruce's face without the mask since… since before _everything_. Before the Joker in that warehouse, before Klarion and the island. Years. Bruce's hair was half plastered to his head, half sticking up like he'd had a shock.

"Dick, I would never let that happen," Bruce said. "Never. You have to know that." He reached out and took Dick by the shoulders, his hands gentle despite the gauntlets. "No matter what you've done."

"But I didn't!" Dick blurted out. "I didn't. I didn't kill him." His voice cracked, broke into a whisper. "Oh, God, Bruce, I didn't kill him." Dick slid down the wall, escaping Bruce's light grip to collapse at his feet. He buried his face in his hands as a sob tore its way loose from his throat, followed by another, shoulders shaking as actual hot tears streamed from his eyes. "It was Klarion, it wasn't me. It wasn't _me_." Relief had been buried deep beneath anger and resentment and nervousness, but now it flooded out and made him cry even harder. He smeared the tears away as best he could with the back of his hand, though they weren't ready to stop yet, and looked up at Bruce, who hadn't moved. "You have to believe me."

Bruce stared down at him. Of all the things he had expected when coming in here, Dick collapsing in tears had been very far down the list. And now here he was, protesting his innocence… with flakes of black falling from his eyes along with the tears. One blue eye was pleading with Batman from the wreckage of the twisted mask, and even as Bruce watched the white lens over the other eye cracked and fell away. Dick seemed unaware of it. He took Bruce's staring for something other than what it was.

"Of course," Dick said, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand and taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Why would you believe me." He started to laugh but it choked off into another sob.

It shook Bruce free of his surprise. He dropped to his knees by Dick's side, cape flaring out behind him, and pushed Dick's hands away from his face. "Dick, look at me."

Dick did, his expression wretched, his eyes a very human red. Whatever Bruce had been about to say failed him and instead he pulled Dick forward into his arms, wrapping them around Dick and cradling him close to his chest.

Dick tensed for a few moments and then a fresh wave of tears rocked him and he buried his face against the bat symbol. Bruce ran a hand through his hair soothingly, thrown backward over a decade to the first time Dick had run afoul of Scarecrow's fear toxin. The aftermath had been just like this, and Bruce's words had been the same then, as well.

"It's okay. I've got you. It's going to be all right."

 

In the main part of the cave, Robin was giving himself a headache trying to watch both the cell cameras and Jason and Damian at the same time. Batgirl had no such trouble; she'd decided to keep her eyes glued on Jason and Damian, either trusting Batman could take care of himself or trusting that Robin would notice if something went wrong. Robin knew it made sense for one of them to watch the screen and the other to keep an eye on the… guests… but he couldn't help continually looking over. Jason Todd. Acting awfully chummy with a kid who'd stabbed Robin not too long ago.

Or at least, that's how it looked from the outside. Jason's head was bent toward Damian, his back to the computer and Batgirl and Robin, speaking softly. But they were having an argument.

"Stop treating them like an enemy and just—"

"Do not presume to tell me what to do, Todd," Damian hissed at him.

"You're hurt, I know you are. Dick threw you around like a dog with a chew toy."

Damian crossed his arms. "I'm fine. I have taken far worse."

"That doesn't mean you have to stand around hurting."

Damian had let Batman take his blood for testing with no argument – as had Jason – but when Batman simply ordered Batgirl and Robin to begin the tests and then turned back to the cells where he'd left Dick, Damian had closed in on himself, moving away from them both to observe from a distance.

"Perhaps this is a test," Damian murmured. Batman had also confiscated his weapons, securing them in a locker. He'd done that even before removing Dick from the room. Jason didn't like the way Damian's eyes kept darting to Robin, though.

"I don't think so, kid," Jason said.

At the computer, Robin stood suddenly, hands coming down hard on the desk as he stared up at the screen. Everyone turned to look at the abrupt movement, then to where Robin was looking. Bruce was hugging Dick.

"He shouldn't be that close to him," Robin said. "It's a trick, or a trap. I'm gonna—"

Batgirl put a hand on his shoulder to stop him bolting to the holding area. "We checked him for weapons. He's bound in restraints B tested himself. I don't think it's a trap, Robin."

"Tt," said Damian. "My father clearly has some stratagem in mind. This is a psychological ploy."

Batgirl gave him a pitying look. Robin didn't look like he believed that for a second, either. Jason watched Robin turn away from the monitors and storm over to the chemistry area to check the blood tests, even though there was no way they were ready yet. Jason hesitated only briefly before following him.

"Where are you going?" Damian demanded.

"Gonna talk with my replacement. Sit tight." That garnered an indignant huff, which Jason ignored.

Robin looked up, startled, when Jason approached. Startled, and a little wary. Jason had worn the mask long enough to read that. He leaned against the table, arms crossed, next to where Robin was making a pretense of checking the instruments.

Damian had told him who wore the R now. Jason was vaguely aware of the Drakes in general, the same way everyone in Gotham was aware of the big-money families. He supposed he'd known that they were neighbors of Bruce's, and that they had a kid, but Jason hadn't been much interested in making friends. He'd figured he and some rich boy wouldn't have much in common.

Well. Of all the misjudgments he'd made in his life, that one hardly ranked.

"Looks like you inherited more than just the cape," Jason commented.

"…What do you mean?"

Jason jerked his head at the screen showing the security feed. "Dick envy."

Robin choked on nothing and Jason grinned. Robin caught it and scowled at him. "I do not have— That's ridiculous."

Jason shrugged. "Sure. Maybe it's different for you. Maybe you're not constantly comparing yourself to the original. Maybe you're just the happy, well-adjusted sidekick Bruce always wanted."

"Oh sure, because it's that simple following _both_ of you," Robin muttered.

"Man, I _died_. I don't know how I could set the bar any lower for you."

Robin stared at him, abandoning all appearance of scientific pursuit. "Come with me," he said, turning with an abrupt flutter of cape. Jason logged his exposed back automatically and shook his head to dislodge the thought, shoving off the table to catch up with him.

"Where are we going?"

"Your memorial."

"My—"

He hadn't noticed it. It was a lit glass case near the stairs, impossible to miss for anyone entering or leaving the Cave by way of the study upstairs, but they had come in through the hangar.

_A Good Solider_

"What… the fuck."

"You're a tough act to follow, Jason."

No wonder the new kid had changed up the costume. This… this was… "This isn't me." It was a low growl from the back of his throat. Jason felt the muscles across his shoulders bunching. "What the _hell,_ Bruce." He whirled on Robin, who was watching him clinically. "What are you looking at?"

Robin cocked his head. "Is it true he didn't really kill you?"

Jason's fists clenched. "It's complicated."

"So you don't know," Robin clarified. "Well, I know what he did to me. And now Batman's in there literally welcoming him back with open arms. So, DNA tests pending, I think I might be looking at the only other person who truly understands just how dangerous Dick Grayson is."

"And what do you expect me to do about that?"

Robin shrugged. "Just something to keep in mind."

He turned to head back to the main area of the Cave, leaving Jason to stare at a ghost of himself behind glass.

 

Damian watched Jason follow Robin with narrowed eyes. Batgirl watched him watching. "So," she said. "Is that really Jason?"

Damian graced her with a scornful look. "Of course. Why tell a lie that would be so quickly found out?"

"And you… what? Helped him escape?"

"Todd did not need my help to escape, not if he truly put his mind to it."

Batgirl snorted. "Right. So you _weren't_ holding him prisoner for years? He just never got around to leaving, is that it?"

"Don't speak of things you know nothing about," Damian snarled.

"Oh," Batgirl said, looming over him with her arms crossed. "I think I know a thing or two about it. I see you looking over there at them. You're protective of Jason. For whatever fucked up reason, you care about him."

Damian began to scoff a protest but Batgirl cut him off.

"Don't bother. I know I'm right. I know because I'm the same way about Robin." She leaned forward, locking eyes with Damian. "Touch him again and whatever Dick did to you will seem gentle by the time I'm through with you."

Damian grinned like he intended to stab someone with it. "The last time we fought, you ran," he reminded her.

"And you came chasing after and landed on my home turf. With no weapons." Batgirl did not grin back

"What's going on?" Robin asked, an edge in his voice as he returned to the computer area. Damian's eyes snapped to him and then immediately scanned for Jason, who had only just turned from the glass case several yards away.

"Just having a chat with the boy assassin here," Batgirl said.

"It sounded like a challenge to me," Damian said.

Robin glanced quickly at the security monitors. Batman was still in the cell with Dick, crouched beside him and speaking to him quietly while Dick sat against the wall, eyes lowered. "Can we please hold off on dueling at least until we solve some of the problems we already have?"

Damian eyed Robin with something a little too close to hunger for Batgirl's comfort. "No matter when I face you, the outcome will be the same," Damian said. "You are merely a placeholder until I fill the role that is meant for me."

Robin stared at him for a moment, not sure he'd heard correctly. "You? Be Robin? You have no _idea_ what Robin's about or what I went through to get here. You'll never be Robin."

"We'll see."

"Listen, brat," Robin took an angry step toward Damian and Batgirl put a hand on his shoulder just as Jason came up behind Damian.

"Problems?" Jason asked. He took in the tension at a glance. "Yeah, we're gonna retreat to corners here," he decided.

"I do not need—" Damian began.

"Annnnd we're going," Jason said, steering Damian away by the shoulders, back over to where Alfred had left the tea cart.

Damian let him, a little surprised. Todd was _different_ here. More confident, more in control. Was this what he had been like before the Pit? "I don't understand," Damian said, noting the biscuits that made their way into various pockets of Jason's clothing. "Why did you not want to return here?"

Jason's eyes slid to his, then away, then to the security screens. "You know what they say. You can't go home."

"That is not an answer at all."

Jason sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. The easy, relaxed demeanor faded for a moment and Damian saw the more familiar, more raw Jason he was used to. "It's like… imagine someone defeated Talia—"

"I have done this," Damian interrupted.

"No, not— like, for real. Not as a training exercise or a test. Imagine someone came into your stronghold and did whatever they wanted and there wasn't a thing Talia or you could do to stop them."

Damian looked at Jason skeptically, but attempted the visualization exercise nevertheless. "All right."

"The place you thought you were safe, all the strength you thought you had, none of it meant a thing. So why would you go back there?"

"To retake what was mine," Damian answered promptly. "To show that I was not afraid."

Jason laughed a little. "All right, well, I guess that's your answer. I _was_ afraid." He glanced again, compulsively, at the screen showing Dick and Batman. "Still am."

Damian scowled. "Fear is an unworthy emotion."

Jason rolled his eyes. "And bravery?"

Damian hesitated, seeing the trap. "Bravery… has its uses," he allowed.

"And you can't have bravery without fear," Jason said. "So. Here we are."

"I will not allow anything to happen to you, Todd."

"I thought I was supposed to be the guard here, kid."

Damian brightened. "Does that mean you are ready to swear your oath of fealty?"

"I can never tell if you're joking," Jason said.

"I never _joke_ ," Damian huffed.

"And yet I keep hoping." Jason shook his head. "I'm not swearing any oaths, Damian. I don't— I'm not— look, it's like my replacement said. Let's work through some of the problems we've already got before complicating things any more."

Damian crossed his arms and glared across the room at Robin. "Fine." Jason knew him well enough to hear the unspoken _For now_. in the air between them.

 


	26. Gotham: ~3 Years Ago

**Gotham  
_Approximately 3 Years Ago_ **

Tim was sleeping. Barbara was not. She was curled into an uncomfortable visitors' chair by his bed, the hard arm of it digging into her side. She had a book in her hands, but the room was too dark to read. She listened to Tim's breathing, unconsciously waiting for any hitch that might indicate he was having difficulty. That was a possibility with a fractured breastbone, she'd read, and the bruises on his throat couldn't be making things any easier.

His right arm was in a cast, wrist to elbow. His left leg had gotten away with just a brace holding the knee immobile. The rest was just various cuts peppered across his face, a distressingly purpled eye, and other bruises, according to his chart. There was nothing they could do to help the fractured sternum; he'd just have to stay as immobile as possible. For months.

Light from the hallway sliced into the room and Barbara straightened, fingers closing around a batarang in the pocket of her hoodie.

"It's me," Bruce said quietly. As far as the public and the hospital was concerned, Bruce Wayne was looking in on his neighbor's kid because the Drakes were out of the country. That wasn't untrue – and Barbara (who was simply sneaking in) had some opinions about parents who wouldn't cut their travel short when their kid was this injured – but the secondary layer to this was Batman keeping an eye on someone Nightwing had targeted and might target again.

"But why?" Barbara had asked when Alfred had contacted her about this latest development. What could Nightwing possibly gain from beating up this child? Bruce had posited that he'd done it because of Tim's resemblance to both Dick and Jason, superficial as it might be. Barbara had pictured Bruce coming home and finding a bloodied and beaten boy, black haired and blue eyed, in his infirmary and swallowed hard.

And it had definitely been Nightwing. Babs had reviewed the footage from the front door security camera herself. He'd been gentle with Tim, laying him almost reverently on the stoop before vanishing in a curl of black smoke. It made her stomach clench.

"Thank you for staying with him," Bruce said and Babs shook herself out of her reverie. Bruce had closed the door and it was dark in the room again, save for the glow of various medical monitors and the light from the street.

"Of course. Did you find Fate?"

"Yes. After a fashion." His voice was a low rumble.

"What does that mean?"

"We shouldn't talk about it here."

Oh, yes. That was the other thing. The kid had come to in the Batcave and told them what had happened, then promptly asked what their cover story would be. Batman had told him he could tell the truth and Tim had scoffed, saying he'd been lying to his parents for years, ever since he'd figured out who Batman and company really were. Barbara thought she might be amused by the whole thing if circumstances were a little different.

"He's out cold. Painkillers. Doesn't like 'em much, though."

Bruce considered, then flipped the lock on the door and lowered his voice even further. "Zatanna will be by shortly to take over here. She's taken the helm from her father."

Barbara stared at him. "What?"

"We're working on a solution – some way to catch Nightwing and hold him, something better than Fate's methods prior to this. Something anyone could use so that we don't have to rely on Fate. But even if there is a solution like that, it will take time to research and develop. In the meantime, Zatanna will try to catch him and hold him but… frankly, I would lay odds on Dick against most of the League, and that was before he developed magical powers and lost his moral compass."

"Hang on," Babs said. "Go back to the part where Zatanna _put on the Helm of Fate_."

"I'll fill you in on the details on the way home."

"Home?"

"You need to sleep, Barbara. And I want you to talk to Dinah. Soon."

Barbara frowned. "Don't keep me out of the loop," she said. "I need to know what you're planning. I need to help."

"Right now the best thing you can do to help is take care of yourself. You've missed four days of school—"

"Jason's _dead_ ," Barbara hissed, on her feet in an instant. "I get to take time to grieve."

"You do," Bruce agreed. "But as far as the world is concerned, Barbara Gordon and Jason Todd weren't exactly close. And you have _no_ reason to be keeping vigil at Tim Drake's bedside."

"I can't believe you," she said. "What do you expect me to do, paste on a mask and act like everything's fine?"

"I expect you to talk to Dinah. And then I expect you to paste on a mask and help me bring in the one who did this."

Barbara's jaw worked. "Fine. But you'd better put me on rotation for keeping watch here, too. Nothing else is happening to this kid. Not if I can help it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment reminded me that I'd actually written the start of the scene mentioned in this chapter where Tim wakes up in the Batcave after Dick leaves him on the Manor's doorstep. I still had it, so if anyone's interested... here's a deleted scene that would have gone right after chapters 18 and 20: <http://solomonara.tumblr.com/post/179741132939/if-anyones-interested-heres-a-scene-i-cut-from>


	27. The Batcave: Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be traveling for the next week, so I figured... better an update a few days early than a few days late, right? It'll technically mean a longer wait til the next update if you read these immediately, but I am nearly certain you'll survive :)

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Batman was, truthfully, a little surprised to re-enter the main area of the Cave and find no one bleeding, screaming, or any more injured than they'd been when he'd left. Instead there was an icy silence broken only by the whir and hum of the equipment processing Jason's and Damian's blood. Cowl back in place, he went to Batgirl and Robin first, well aware of Jason's and Damian's eyes on him.

"The DNA will take several more hours to process," he said, his voice low. "What's your analysis of their behavior? Should we confine them for the duration?"

"Yes," Batgirl said immediately. "The kid's all but promised to make an attempt on Robin's life."

"Damian maybe," Robin said. "But Jason… I really think it's him, Batman."

"Hm," Batman said.

Robin frowned. "I know him. Don't forget I followed you both for years."

"It may be him. That doesn't mean there isn't something deeper going on here, though," Batman said.

Robin's frown turned to a scowl. "Why don't you ask Dick his opinion on it, then, since you're so willing to trust what _he_ says?"

Batgirl's eyebrows went up and she looked to Batman to see how he'd react – which was silly, of course, because he didn't, not visibly. He did turn to Batgirl, though. "Watch them for just a little longer. I need to make a call."

He turned and stalked deeper into the cave.

"Yeah, that's fine," Robin muttered. "Just ignore me. No worries, we'll watch over the potentially murderous people you've let in here, sure, why not."

Across the cave, Jason watched Batman go, his expression unreadable.

 

Batman was headed to the garages, though his real aim was privacy. He slid into one of the older-model Batmobiles and pulled up the video array, accessing the connections he knew were always open to him.

The screen fuzzed and resolved quickly.

"Talia," Batman said.

"Beloved," Talia purred. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A child claiming your name turned up in Gotham."

One of her eyebrows quirked up. "Oh. I suppose I ought to have expected that. At least he is still alive. He is meant to be going after the unfortunate Dick Grayson. Tell me, did Damian come to you for help?"

"You sent a child after Nightwing?" Batman demanded.

" _Our_ child took it upon himself to hunt down Nightwing," Talia corrected.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Our child."

"I imagine you're running the paternity test even now."

"Talia, how could you?"

Talia _tsk_ 'd softly. "Come now, Beloved. Did you think my only aim that night was my own pleasure? I would not go to such trouble for that."

Batman's hand tightened where it rested on the steering wheel. "I am running the tests. I will find out the truth. Either way I will not send a child back to the League of Assassins."

"Good. Train him, my love. There are things he can only learn from you. I had intended to send him to you soon, anyway."

Batman tapped a finger against the steering wheel. "And Jason?"

Talia's expression went flat and shuttered. "Ah."

"What did you do?"

"I? Nothing. This was the work of my father."

Batman said nothing, only stared at her, waiting. She sighed.

"You know of the restorative powers of the Lazarus Pit. My father has long wondered if its power could be even greater – to bring back the dead. But those who would be worthy to undergo such an experiment are few in number. When our spies in Gotham told us of Robin's death at the hands of Nightwing, he… acquired the body."

"The grave—"

"You buried a decoy. Some construct that would satisfy a visual inspection, that would decompose naturally should you ever become suspicious, that would provide the coffin the proper weight. And my father brought Jason Todd back to life."

"And then?" Batman asked, his voice very quiet.

"It went wrong. Jason came back mad, barely controllable. He retained some skill, but his mind…" Talia shook her head. "My father would have unleashed him on the world, sat back and watched. I intervened. I took him in, trained him to control himself. And then, somehow, your demon child found out and stole him away. What happens now, I do not know."

"Three years, Talia," Batman growled. "You had him for three years and you _kept him from me_."

"It would only have broken your heart if he could not be healed," Talia said simply.

"You expect me to believe you kept working on him that long if you suspected he wouldn't be healed? You expect me to believe that you ever intended to release him?"

"Believe what you will, Beloved. I have never been able to stop you." Talia paused. "Did Damian tell you about Jason, then? Or was his mission truly successful?"

"Goodbye, Talia." Batman had the pleasure of seeing Talia look frustrated for the half second it took him to shut off the connection. He stared at the screen a few moments longer after it disconnected. Then he punched it as hard as he could and watched cracks spiderweb outward from his fist. He let his hand drop into his lap, exhaled slowly, and tipped his head back against the seat. He'd check the results of the DNA tests when he had them… but he didn't think he needed them now.

 

Batman was outwardly composed when he re-entered the main area of the Cave. Robin was at the center console, eyes glued to the security feed from the cells. There was nothing to watch. Dick was still sitting on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest as best he could with his bound wrists and resting his forehead on them. Batgirl was watching Robin's back, her gaze resting as often on Jason as it did on Damian. She clearly wasn't sure whether to believe this was really Jason or not. At least it wasn't hard to watch both of them; Jason was sticking to Damian's side in some combination of protectiveness and apprehension while Damian simply stood and scowled around at the Cave as a whole.

Where to even begin. With Barbara, who had been feeling the guilt of Jason's death and the horror of piecing together Dick's torture and transformation for years? With Tim, who was so angry and still so broken – and so very capable of taking matters into his own hands? With Jason, who Bruce had failed in the most spectacular way, miraculously back from the dead? Or with Damian.

Faced with a cave full of the echoes of his worst moments, Bruce almost turned around and walked right back out. Dick – the one from the other dimension – had told him about Jason's return, how it had happened there, and Bruce had thought he was prepared. But that other Batman hadn't had to contend with a chaos lord and a surprise son rolling into town at the same time. Well, at least this Jason didn't seem to be trying to shoot anyone or blow anything up.

Bruce sighed. He wanted… he wanted Alfred. Alfred, who had raised him, who had mostly raised Dick, who had known immediately when Jason walked through the hangar doors, apparently. But Bruce wouldn't call him down to the Cave. Fearless as Alfred might be, taking it upon himself to serve tea to chaos lords and assassins, Bruce wouldn't ask him to come down into a situation that still had so many variables.

Which left him with himself.

"Damian," he said, trying out the name now that he knew its significance. "And Jason. Infirmary."

Damian stood a little straighter. "My injuries are of no consequence."

Batman was about to say _I wasn't asking_ , but Jason beat him to it. "He wasn't asking, kid. Come on."

Batman blinked. Jason led Damian unerringly to the medical bay, offered to boost him onto the exam table, and had to dodge a kick to the shins for his trouble.

"Hood and cloak off," Batman ordered. Damian set them aside and Batman narrowed his eyes at the bruising around his throat. He'd thought Damian had sounded a little hoarse, but he hadn't been sure – it might have just been the kid's voice. "Hm. What else?"

"Superficial bruising," Damian said.

"Let me see."

Damian hesitated.

"You're in no danger here," Batman assured him.

Damian scoffed. "I'm not afraid." He was wearing a tunic, belted and wrapped around the front. He shoved it off his shoulders and slid his arms out, leaving it to hang from the belt. Batman circled him, checking the bruising on his side and back.

"What happened?" Batman asked.

Damian didn't answer, but Jason did. "Dick," he said.

"Hm. You were lucky. I'm going to check for fractures or breaks. Tell me if it hurts," Batman said. He removed a gauntlet and pressed fingertips to Damian's side. The kid didn't so much as wince, and Batman didn't feel anything unusual under his fingers, so he guessed Damian was telling the truth.

"Isn't this usually Alfred's gig?" Jason asked.

"He's… busy."

"You don't want him down here with unknown factors," Jason said. Batman didn't answer and Jason rolled his eyes. "Didn't stop him earlier."

"You think I could stop Alfred from doing something he thinks is necessary?" Batman asked. Jason huffed out a laugh.

"Fair enough."

"Are we through here?" Damian asked. He hopped off the table without waiting for an answer, pulling his tunic back on and sweeping the cloak around his shoulders.

"You are. Head back to the main area. If you're tired, you can take one of the cots. I'll have meals brought down later," Batman said.

"Very well. Come along, Todd."

"I'm not through with Jason yet," Batman said. Jason raised his eyebrows at him.

Damian crossed his arms. "Get on with it, then."

"I will. In private."

"Anything you have to say to Todd—"

"Damian, it's fine," Jason said. "Go get some rest. Please?"

Damian stared him down a few moments longer, just to make it clear he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. "Fine." He turned and stalked out.

Jason turned to Batman. "Okay. What's up?"

"Jason, are you okay?"

"Hell no, but who is?" Jason said. When Batman just waited for him to go on he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Batman noticed he kept the other hand in his pocket pretty much always, toying with whatever he had in there. "I mean, this is some fucked up shit, B. I know you're not 100% yet on whether I am who I say I am, but it's true. I died, I came back, I spent the last however long it was getting my ass beat by the most talented scum Talia could scrounge up, and then the guy who murdered me walked through a wall and teleported me to Italy to try and make friends. I am… pretty far from okay."

"Jason, I—" Batman shook his head. What did one say in this situation? He could only think of one thing. "I'm sorry."

Jason started. "You believe me?"

"I spoke with Talia."

"That bitch," Jason said, though it lacked punch. "She… she's fucked that kid up pretty good, Bruce. But he still… saved me."

"He managed to save you from Dick? How?" Batman asked.

"No," Jason said. "No, that was a disaster." He laughed. "He attacked Dick with a _sword_. The kid's good, but he's never met someone that he couldn't beat. He's overconfident. I meant, when they had me locked up, down in the dark, and I was going crazy, he brought me light. He'd sneak me food. He'd sit and talk to me. Don't look at me like that, Bruce, I can practically see 'Stockholm Syndrome' flashing across your mask."

Batman slowly removed the cowl - he'd forgotten he'd put it back on - and the other gauntlet. "Jason, I'm just glad you're back," he said. "Really. I'm trying to process it, and the fact that you not only came back but you brought Dick in, and Damian… I want to know everything that happened, how it all ended up… here."

"No," Jason said abruptly. Bruce's eyes went sharp, analyzing. "I'm sorry, I just— I can't. Can we just... handle Dick? Figure out what to do with Damian?"

"You don't have to talk about it until you're ready," Bruce said. "But whatever happened, you're safe now. Anything you need, just tell me."

Jason nodded, the motion jerky. Bruce rested a hand on his shoulder, a shoulder that was now level with his own. He'd missed so much.

"All right," Bruce said. "Let's go back out before anyone gets stabbed."

"Bruce," Jason said. "Can I—" He stopped, not wanting to ask and be denied.

"What is it?"

"I— the Cave. It's… it's not the same, it's got lights, but the smell… every once in a while I catch it, and I… can I go upstairs?"

Jason turned away from the look that crossed Bruce's face at the request: concern, _understanding_. God, if he knew…

"Of course."

They went back and Jason peeled off immediately to head straight for the stairs, not looking at any of the others, and definitely not looking at the glass case as he walked past it. Bruce winced internally. He was going to have to take care of that as soon as possible. For now, though… Bruce went to Batgirl and murmured a few words to her. She looked over to Jason, startled, then back at Bruce. Bruce nodded and Batgirl took off for the locker rooms, emerging just a few seconds later in navy blue GCPD sweats and a tank top, hoodie slung over her arm, trotting up the stairs after Jason.

"Where is he going?" Damian demanded.

"Upstairs," Bruce said. "You're staying down here. Robin, you can go too if you want."

Robin looked from Barbara and Jason (she'd caught up with him, taken him by the arm, and was practically dragging him the rest of the way up) to Damian, to the security screens. "I'm good."

"Debatable," Damian muttered.

Bruce ignored him. "If you're staying, then, I have an assignment for you."

"But—" Robin began, glancing at the screens.

"Nothing will be happening with Nightwing's case until Fate returns. In the meantime, I want you to try and track down Ra's al Ghul. All of this can be traced back to him."

Robin looked startled. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You've been searching for him for years. Every time you've found him he's slipped away. You're not just trying to keep me busy, are you?"

"You said it yourself," Bruce said. "I've been searching for years. Clearly it's time for a fresh approach."

"Why not just ask his grandson, since he's turned up so conveniently."

Damian had been conspicuously quiet about Robin's assignment but now he spoke up in his usual scathing tones. "Grandfather does not see fit to keep me apprised of his movements." He glared at Robin. "I have not seen him since you began attempting to fill Todd's shoes. For some reason he has a high regard of your abilities and has begun taking extra precautions." Damian sniffed. "I suspect he is getting paranoid in his old age."

"He's hiding… from me?"

"He is not _hiding_ from anyone!" Damian snapped, but Robin was already grinning, turning to a keyboard and tugging down a smaller monitor from the main array.

"That means I've got some skill that can find him, maybe something I've been tinkering with." The keyboard clacked away as Robin cycled through various projects, pulling aside bits of programs that might be useful. "Probably has bugs in our system," he muttered. "Maybe in Batgirl's."

"Bugs?" Bruce said, eyebrows going up.

"How else would he know to be worried?" Robin pointed out, not looking up and seemingly unconcerned at the fact that assassins might be spying on his tech. "He clearly has a Gotham presence we don't know about – how else did he get a hold of Jason – and I _know_ there's communication open between you and Talia." He could hear himself talking faster and faster, the challenges of the new puzzle hitting his brain like a couple shots of espresso.

He didn't notice Damian's stare shift abruptly to Bruce. "Is that true?" Damian asked Bruce.

"Is what true?"

"Open communication? Between you and my mother?"

That was about as close to ten years old as Bruce had seen the kid look yet. He set his jaw. "Not exactly. Not open. I know how to contact her if necessary."

Damian nodded once, sharply. "Of course." He clasped his hands behind his back and turned his gaze to Robin, pretending to be engrossed in what he was doing.

Suddenly sensing he was being watched, Robin straightened. "Hey," he said, casting a suspicious look at Damian. He grabbed the monitor and turned it away from him, hovering over it protectively. "Scram, squirt. We don't need you running off to tell granddad when we've found him."

Damian bristled and Bruce dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't I show you the training facilities," he suggested. "And Tim," he added, deliberately not using codenames. "I don't expect you to finish this in one night, or even a week. Don't forget to sleep."

Robin waved him off, already getting that distant look that said he'd thought of something he wanted to try. Bruce steered Damian away and left him to it.

 


	28. The Tower of Fate: ~3 Years Ago

**The Tower of Fate  
_Approximately 3 Years Ago_**

Batman researched. He dug deep into the archives and libraries of the Tower of Fate. Occasionally Doctor Fate would drift through, watching him implacably. Batman wondered briefly which secrets were the ones Nobu felt threatened by, but he had more pressing matters to worry about.

Zatanna occasionally lent a hand, more enthusiastic and more creative than Fate. The partnership between magician and spirit seemed to be working well. Batman would never show his surprise, but he supposed if anyone were capable of taming a Lord of Order, it would be Zatanna. The thought gave him hope that they might find not only a way to stop Nightwing, but to _help_ him. Either way, they'd make sure he never killed or hurt anyone again.

The Justice League worried over Batman. He hadn't told them the details of Jason's death, but they all knew by now that Nightwing was a Lord of Chaos. Batman had put Batgirl to the task of filling in the blanks: tracking down what exactly had happened to Dick Grayson in the seven months between when he'd vanished and when Batman had spotted him in Slade's apartment.

To most of the League and the Team, Nightwing was now a gray player; he didn't appear to be helping the bad guys, but given that both Doctor Fate and Batman seemed hellbent on bringing him in it was clear he wasn't solidly on the side of the angels anymore, either.

When the Reach finally made their move and attacked, the Team handled them and the remains of the Light. Reports from the abducted teens in the aftermath indicated that _something_ had torn through the labs where some of them were being experimented on and completely dismantled every array, scanner, and syringe. And then the subjects had found themselves swapped with the scientists, free from their restraints, while the scientists suddenly found themselves visited with every torture they'd inflicted on their captives. Zatanna, Batgirl, and Batman had exchanged a Look about that, but when anyone asked them about it Batman simply told them not to interfere.

Doctor Fate was having no luck getting hold of Nightwing. If she'd thought their past friendship would give her an edge in catching him, she'd been mistaken. He took one look at her the first time they crossed paths after she'd taken the helm and just shook his head with a wry smile and vanished. He preferred to run rather than fight any time she or Batman encountered him on Earth – usually in tombs around the world or ancient libraries. He was clearly looking for some sort of information but he refused to stay still long enough to be questioned about it. After the Reach incident, though, he was barely on Earth at all or even in the physical plane, as far as Doctor Fate could tell. Neither was Klarion, for that matter.

When he did suddenly ping Doctor Fate's senses on the physical plane again, though, it wasn't Doctor Fate who found him first.

 

"Superman _and_ Wonder Woman? I think I'm flattered. Batman finally give up?" Dick asked.

"We just want to talk, Dick," Superman said soothingly. Dick had just climbed out of a forgotten tomb in the Libyan Desert, its entrance barely a hole in the ground, the once-grand edifice long buried by the sands. It had been warded so thoroughly that he'd had to crawl through it using only his physical skills, and his head was pounding. But he'd gotten the tablet he came for. Now he just had to get somewhere to translate it, which would have been the easy part but for the two powerhouses towering over him.

"Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry here. Maybe next century?"

Wonder Woman ran a thumb over her lasso. "What are you hiding, Dick Grayson?"

"A deep dislike of small talk. Bye!" He began to teleport, but snapped back to the physical realm like he was on a tether. He scowled down at the tablet in his hands. Great. It was warded against teleportation. Of course, he could still fly—

He didn't make it far. Superman had been flying for far longer than he had and appeared like a brick wall in front of him. Before he could change direction, Wonder Woman's lasso looped around his ankle from below. In one fluid motion she wrapped it around her forearm and hauled him back to the sand, where he landed with a grunt, curled around the tablet to protect it from impact. Superman floated down after him.

The lasso _hurt_. It wasn't like Fate's chains of order; it was a bone-permeating ache that made him feel frozen all over, but without the cold. He hissed through his teeth and grabbed the loop around his ankle, trying to dislodge it even though he knew perfectly well the lasso would only uncoil when Wonder Woman wanted it to.

"Get it off," he said. "Please." The lasso demanded truth; he couldn't act like it wasn't hurting him, couldn't act like being suddenly unable to escape wasn't frightening him.

"Diana," Superman said, uncertain.

"No. We will have the truth from him," she said, giving a sharp yank that dragged Dick across the sand toward her. He brought up his free leg to brace his heel against the sand, dropped the tablet and tried to shove away or at least distance the rest of his body from the bizarre heaviness encircling his ankle. "Why does Batman hunt you, Dick Grayson? What are your crimes?"

A shudder tore its way up Dick's body, a visible tremor. He tipped his head back, eyes closed. "He didn't tell you?"

"You know how he is," Superman said. He crouched near Dick, smiled at him encouragingly.

Something like fear came over Dick's face under that gaze and he avoided eye-contact, hurriedly looking at Wonder Woman's boots instead. "He's hunting me because he feels guilty. He wants to fix his mistake. Or erase it," Dick said through gritted teeth.

"The second question," Wonder Woman insisted. "What have you done?" Clark might not want to see, but Diana had her suspicions. She had seen Batgirl shaken by her investigations, had heard about the boy in the hospital so soon after Jason's death, had noted Zatanna's new partnership with Nobu, knew that Batman would not have invested so much time and so many resources into his hunt if it were not dire.

Dick looked up at her, his eyes pleading, but Wonder Woman was stone. So Dick took a deep breath and looked back to Superman, met his eyes this time and didn't blink. "I killed Robin."

Superman stood up so quickly there was a _snap_ of displaced air. Dick smiled, a hard, tight smile that held back the screams. Superman looked from the lasso around his ankle to Wonder Woman.

"There must be some—"

He was interrupted by the low whir and spark of a portal opening not two feet away. Doctor Fate and Batman stepped through.

"I thought I told you to stay out of this," Batman intoned before he even had two feet on sand. Superman turned to him, wearing pain stark on his face, so raw that Batman almost took a step back. Wonder Woman, on the other hand, looked angry.

"He must see justice. This is not something you can handle on your own, Batman."

"I'm not," Batman said.

Doctor Fate crossed her arms, peering down at Dick. "The lasso. He is confined to form while it touches him," she observed.

Dick scowled. Batman hadn't so much as glanced at him. Well, good. Dick was getting his wits about him, finally thinking through the lasso's effects. He pulled slightly with his ankle, testing the tension.

"It forces him into his truest form," Wonder Woman said. "In this case—"

Dick grabbed the lasso and heaved on it, using the same technique he'd use if he were fighting Catwoman and her whip but augmenting it with extra magical strength. The lasso might force truth but it didn't dampen his powers. As long as he didn't try to lie with them he'd have no problem using them.

Wonder Woman dug in her heels and pulled back, not losing her grip for a moment. Dick relaxed suddenly against her pull and went flying toward her feet-first. Superman stepped between them just as Batman shouted "Don't!" Dick grinned, because Batman might know what he planned, but he was too late.

Using magically-augmented speed, Dick changed direction in mid-air, took up the slack of the lasso, tossed a coil around Superman's neck, then flew in the opposite direction, tightening it. He couldn't strangle Superman with it, but as long as Wonder Woman kept her hold, Superman couldn't get free. He was trapped as much as Dick was, and being held by the Lasso of Truth was never comfortable for long. Superman grabbed at the end leading to Dick and gamely pulled back, but the lasso clearly didn't want to work with him.

"Hera's braids," Wonder Woman swore, loosening her grip for the slightest of seconds. Superman ducked out of the loop circling his neck, but Dick was ready. His foot slipped free the moment Diana's grasp lightened.

"No," said Doctor Fate, raising a hand. Dick ducked whatever she was going to do, dropped to the sand and rolled, scooping up the tablet and winging it at Fate before he even came out of his somersault. Fate stopped to catch the stone tablet and Dick teleported away.

Batman frowned. "What, exactly, just happened here?"

"That's what I want to know!" Wonder Woman snapped. "Not only have you kept important information from us – from the League – but you also didn't lift a hand to prevent his escape! Tell me you are not letting emotion interfere with your duty, Batman."

"There isn't a single thing I could have done to help in this situation," Batman said, his voice carefully controlled. " _That_ is why I've been studying and planning instead of chasing across the planet after him, no matter how much I want to. Fate is keeping watch, making sure he doesn't—"

"Kill someone?" Superman said, very quietly.

There was a long pause. "Yes," Batman said finally. "Because until we have a way to hold him, to actually do something about him, there is no point in risking any of us against him."

"The lasso held him," Wonder Woman said.

"Indeed. And he sacrificed this to make his escape." Doctor Fate held up the tablet. "The information on it is of no use to us – ancient theory on the connectedness of the different planes – but the tablet itself is warded to prevent travel between those planes. It is anchored _here_ and cannot move between."

"You think you can replicate those wards?" Batman asked.

"Perhaps. And the Lasso of Truth…"

Wonder Woman coiled it up and hooked it back on her belt. "Is mine."

"Noted. But its magic confined a chaos lord to form. If we could recreate the effect—"

"We'd be well on our way to having effective confinement. Possibly _portable_ confinement. It wouldn't control his other powers, though," Batman mused.

"It is progress," Fate pointed out. "Wonder Woman, is the history of the artifact recorded?"

"Now you want my help?" Wonder Woman said.

"Everyone," Superman said, putting up his hands. "The middle of the desert is no place to be discussing this. We obviously have a lot to talk about. We should do it back at the Watchtower." Batman opened his mouth to protest. "In a closed meeting room. Just us, and Batgirl if you want, Batman."

"Hn. Fine. Just us, for now. She doesn't need to relive this."

Wonder Woman nodded once, sharply. Fate inclined her head and opened a portal. Wonder Woman led the way through. Superman gestured for Batman to precede him, then followed with Fate bringing up the rear.

Back at the Watchtower, though, Superman put a hand on Batman's shoulder as Fate and Wonder Woman went ahead to the meeting room. The Watchtower was quiet, no one in the zeta landing area where Fate had portalled them.

For a moment, Superman looked as though he were going to say something, but then he just stepped forward and wrapped Batman in a hug. Batman stiffened and stepped back. Superman let him go instantly.

"Bruce—"

"That won't solve anything, Clark."

"Have you talked to anyone about it?" Superman asked, his voice gentle.

"Batgirl and Doctor Fate—"

"I mean _talked_. Not reporting or planning, or listening to someone else. Talked about it. For yourself."

Batman didn't answer.

"Bruce. How can you look at this objectively if you haven't talked through it?" Superman chided, approaching from the one angle that had a chance of working. Batman remained statue still. Superman knew the look, and knew there was nothing he could say at this moment that would thaw it. He sighed and turned to join the others in the meeting room.

"Batgirl found him," Batman said abruptly. Superman turned back. Batman was facing the zeta tubes. Easier to talk if he didn't have to look at someone. Superman nodded, though Batman couldn't see him.

"Found… Robin?" he asked, deciding on the codename. It would be easier, he thought. That was the name Dick had used.

"At first she thought Nightwing had knocked him out. She thought she'd scared Nightwing off, then went to check Robin. He wasn't scared off. He'd done what he came to do. A few days later he found a boy – family friend of the Waynes – and beat him. Viciously. He left him on the manor doorstep for Alfred to find. The boy looked – looks – similar to Jason. Close enough to fit a serial killer's profiling requirements."

Superman was terrified to interrupt, in case it made Batman stop. But Batman's words hit him like they were laced with kryptonite

"Batgirl is shattered. She was on patrol with Robin that night. She blames herself. The only time she lets the boy out of her sight is when she's digging for information on what happened to Nightwing." Batman sighed heavily, half-turned back to Superman.

"And… what happened to Nightwing?"

"I failed him," Batman said simply. Superman made a mental note to follow up with Doctor Fate for the details later; right now Bruce clearly needed something different.

"Well," Superman said. "If you failed him, then so did I."

This time Batman's sigh was exasperated. "Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I mean it. You thought something was off, asked me to take a look around for him. I couldn't find him. If you think you should have been able to find him, then I definitely should have, right? I'm Superman."

"You did everything you could," Batman said, scowling outright now. "And don't you dare say that I did, too, or that if I don't blame you I can't blame myself. I don't need pop psychology, Clark."

"No, you need to grieve, and launching yourself into a crusade doesn't count!"

"Are you telling me I need to rethink my career path?" Batman asked wryly.

"I'm telling you that you might want to lean on your friends for this one."

"I asked Zatanna for help," Batman said, almost petulant.

"I don't think she's particularly objective in this case, either," Superman pointed out.

"No, but Doctor Fate is."

"I might argue that, but look. We all need to grieve too, the League and the Team. We all liked Jason and only having the media story? He deserves better. And Dick… if he's really… if there's no coming back from this, they need to know. And they'll need details to help them get through it."

Batman's shoulders hunched just ever so slightly and his heart rate ticked up for two beats before regulating. The message was clear to Superman's eyes – he did _not_ want to be the one in charge of that particular debrief.

"Hey," Superman said. "That's what I'm saying. It doesn't have to be you that tells them. I said you needed to talk to someone about it, not hold an assembly. Talk to me, I'll talk to them."

"I'll send you the report once it's compiled."

"Bruce."

"…and, if I need to, I'll talk to you."

Superman smiled. Batman wondered if he expended some of his solar energy doing that.

"Don't get your hopes up," Batman growled, sweeping past him. "I have a butler for this sort of thing."

"Whatever you say, Bruce."

 


	29. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Jason stiffened at the rapid tap of footsteps ascending the steps behind him and almost threw Barbara over the edge of the staircase on instinct when she reached him. Luckily he reined it in because there was no way Babs would let him get away with that.

"Bruce send you to keep an eye on me?" Jason asked. There was no rancor in it. He didn't particularly care. The entrance to the study was only a few feet away and he hadn't stopped climbing.

"No, he— he said it was really you. He said it _before_ getting the tests back which means… he's really, really sure." Barbara kept pace with him and then abruptly slid her arm through his. He looked down at her, wondering what she meant by that, but she just tugged him along, pulled him through the clock and into the study and then squared up in front of him, taking him in. "Wow."

"See something you like, Barbie?"

"Don't call me that," Babs said automatically. Then her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh," she said.

Next thing Jason knew, she was squeezing him, her arms around his ribs and her cheek pressed to his chest because wow, he was a lot taller than her now. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, not really sure what to do with this.

"I take it back, you can call me whatever you want," she said to his shirt. "Jason, I'm so glad, I can't believe it. I mean, I wanted to, but you let yourself hope, and then—" She pulled back slightly. "How, though?"

"It's… complicated," Jason hedged.

Babs nodded. Jason was relieved she wasn't crying, though her eyes definitely had a sheen to them. "Okay. Yeah. Long story, lots going on." She stepped away and took a deep breath. "How did Alfred know?" she wondered.

"Butler's intuition, Miss Gordon," Alfred said, and both Jason and Babs jumped. "My apologies," Alfred said. "I heard voices and thought perhaps you had come in search of something more substantial than tea and biscuits."

"Wouldn't say no," Barbara said. She looked to Jason, who shrugged. "That's a yes. Give us like, two seconds, Alfred, and we'll join you in the kitchen."

Alfred nodded at them and left. Jason eyed Barbara warily, not sure why she'd wanted the extra "two seconds," which he suspected would be considerably longer.

"Look," she said. "What happened to you—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Jason said, more quickly than he'd meant to. "It's just… a lot."

"You don't have to," Barbara assured him. "But, I wanted to say I was sorry."

Jason's mouth twisted. "You seriously giving me your condolences on my own death? Jesus, that's even worse than when people say it after a relative dies."

"I mean it, Jason. We should have stuck together that night. I'm older, I should have—"

"And I'd been in the business longer than you, so if either of us should have known better it was me," Jason said. "And anyway, there's no planning for chaos lords."

"I didn't even realize, at first," Barbara said, her voice quiet. "That you were… that he had… I thought you were just knocked out. I tried to revive you, but—"

"Stop," Jason said, a gasp behind the word. Babs looked at him with concern, but he just shook his head, trying to swallow around the rock lodged in his throat. "I don't blame you, so just, can we not?"

"Sure, Jason," Babs said after just a slight pause. She rubbed the edges of her fingers under either eye to wipe away the moisture that had escaped and found, somewhere, a smile. "Come on, Alfred's waiting." Jason let Babs lead the way, letting her draw a few steps ahead and using the space to pull himself together one more time.

 

The layout of Alfred's kitchen hadn't changed. Jason found himself automatically handing Alfred things he asked for. Alfred was making sandwiches – tomato and cheese, turkey and pesto, BLTs. It was about as basic as his repertoire got but even this he did with elegance and refinement. When he was satisfied he had enough of an offering he sent Barbara back down to the cave with the food and asked Jason to stay and help him clean up.

Given that sandwich-making didn't generate much of a mess, this was clearly pretense; Alfred's insight at work once again. Barbara gave him a small nod, touched Jason's arm as she left for the hidden elevator down to the Cave, and went to deliver their work.

Alfred leaned backward, his hands at the small of his back. Jason swept the cutting board, knives, and other paraphernalia into the sink and started wiping down the counters. A touch on his shoulder paused him, though, and he let Alfred turn him around.

"Master Jason," Alfred said, his voice full of warmth. "Welcome home."

Jason let one corner of his mouth kick up in an easy grin, but the lighthearted comment he reached for cracked apart in his throat. His breath hitched. "I— Thanks."

"Will you eat?" A plate of sandwiches had been set aside from the cart Barbara had taken downstairs. Jason eyed it, but for once couldn't stomach the thought of eating. He shook his head mutely.

"I know it's overwhelming," Alfred said. "I have a bed ready for you. You should rest."

"I— you— Um. Okay."

Alfred led him from the kitchen and upstairs, to a completely different hallway than his old room had occupied, much to Jason's relief. He didn't much feel up to finding out whether his room had been cleared out and repurposed, or if Bruce had turned it into a morbid memorial like what he had downstairs. He wasn't sure which would be worse, but at least he didn't have to figure it out tonight.

"You've grown," Alfred said, opening the door to a guest room and standing aside. "So I took the liberty of leaving some of Master Bruce's things for you to change into."

Jason stared around at the room. It was laid out like all the guest rooms in the manor, a pair of pajamas folded neatly on the bed. Jason paused in the doorway, gripping the frame with one hand, as though he was going to shove himself back out into the hallway. Could he really just… sleep? With Dick downstairs? With… everything?

"Master Jason. What is the matter?" Alfred asked gently.

"This. This is all… Alfred, I don't deserve this."

Alfred looked taken aback. "My boy, I do not offer hospitality on the basis of personal merit," he said. "That said, I don't believe for one moment that you are undeserving of a good night's rest."

"You don't know," Jason said. "I've been gone a long time. I've— there are things I've done. And things I could have done, but didn't."

"Would you like to tell me about them?"

Jason shook his head. "No."

"Then I shall have to rely on my own best judgment, and that says you get some sleep. I assure you, I will be urging the rest of our little gathering to do the same shortly." He gave Jason a gentle push into the room. Jason let him, but didn't go any further.

"I killed, Alfred." He didn't turn to look, not wanting to see the look on Alfred's face when he said it.

"I see," Alfred said. "I am sorry to hear that." There, that was it. He'd be dragged back down to the Cave, locked up with Dick. Then: "It is a hard thing, isn't it?"

Jason turned. "Alfred, you…?"

Alfred nodded. "For queen and country. Different circumstances than yours, I can guess, but still. I don't imagine it was entirely your decision."

"No. I didn't want to. Not at first."

"Would I be correct in surmising it was Talia al Ghul who forced your hand?"

"Forced," Jason echoed. "Ha. I could have left. Could have escaped. Or at least tried to. But I—" He bit his lip. "I was so scared, Alfred. And if I tell Bruce…"

"There has been more than one occasion upon which Master Bruce himself could not escape that woman's machinations," Alfred said pertly. "I will not guess what she put you through, and I will not ask you to relive it. I know the look of a person who enjoys killing, though, and the look of a person who has acted out of necessity. It is a complex matter, of course, but it does not change this: you will always have a home here." Alfred's eyes twinkled. "And I'd like to see Master Bruce attempt to say otherwise."

Jason wasn't entirely convinced, but he tried a small smile anyway. Alfred gave him a nod and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Jason lay down on the bed. He left the light on.

 


	30. The Himalayas: ~2.5 Years Ago

**The Himalayas  
_Approximately 2 and a Half Years Ago_**

Jason woke up.

Maybe.

Sometimes he thought he was awake but he wasn't; he'd dreamt a soft bed and a woman's voice and he'd thought that was real, but then a sickly green tinge had washed over his vision and he'd realized the woman was a demon and the bed was a pit in hell and he had to fight—

That had been a nightmare, he was pretty sure. Nightwing coming after him again was probably not real either, not this time, though at least this time he'd been able to fight, to hold him off for a little while before—

Then stone. Chains. Darkness, and a damp smell. It was the smell that brought him well and truly awake (he thought, yes, probably for sure this time). It smelled almost like the Batcave. Almost.

He shifted and metal clinked. Oh. So the chains were real. The manacles around his wrists, the chain leading off somewhere he couldn't see. Well, that wasn't saying much. He couldn't see _anything._ While he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he noticed that his wrists hurt, too. Rubbed raw, if he had to guess.

His eyes weren't adjusting. Either he was blind or it was that dark in here. He reached for his utility belt—

No utility belt. No shoes, no mask, no gauntlets, and whatever he was wearing it was _not_ his Robin uniform. What had happened to him? The last thing he knew for sure was real was the fall, the alley, Nightwing… Jason raised his cuffed hands to the side of his head, wincing in anticipation. But there was no pain, no stickiness. His ribs didn't hurt, his arms and legs were in fine working order. Well, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, at least not for now.

He traced the chain to a bolt in the stone and began trying to work it free while the darkness pressed harder and harder against his eyes. There was a harsh sound rasping through the cave and he whipped his head around to pinpoint the source before realizing it was his own breathing. He slowed it with a deliberate thought and considerable effort…

…but whoever was laughing definitely wasn't him.

"N- Nightwing?" he croaked, dismayed by the stutter and by how terrified he sounded even to his own ears.

"Poor little bird." Dick's voice echoed around him and Jason scrabbled for a wall to put his back to, crashing up against a craggy surface. At least the chain was plenty long. "Birds don't do well in the dark. Not like bats." And then he came walking out of the darkness, all confidence and grace. Jason tried to back himself further against the wall, then changed his mind with a snarl and flung himself at Nightwing.

Nightwing dissipated and Jason crashed to the floor.

Of course. He couldn't see. There was no source of light in here. Nightwing wasn't real.

 

The Shadows were, though. They came periodically – Jason could never be sure how much time had passed – and they took him from the cave that was his cell, and they beat him.

Well. They fought him. They gave him a weapon, and his hands were free, but Jason was weak and the slightest light was intolerable after so long in the dark. It wasn't much of a fight. They tossed him back into the cave soon after, locking his wrists back into the manacles.

Jason might not have been in any shape to fight, but his pick-pocketing skills seemed all right. He very, very carefully sprang the manacles with a set of poisoned needles he'd taken off of one of the Shadows while he was getting his ass handed to him. Feeling around the cave, though, he couldn't find an exit. It was irregularly shaped, curving around large stalagmites, and it was entirely possible he was missing something. There might be a way to climb out, too; the exit could be a few feet above his head and he wouldn't have been able to tell. The Shadows had hauled him out bodily, and his sense of direction wasn't quite up to the task of figuring out which way they'd dragged him.

The next time the Shadows came, Jason was pretty sure he knocked out a few of them using the chains as a weapon before they overwhelmed him. Instead of dragging him somewhere else to fight as they had last time, they seemed content to do it right there. They left him bleeding and bruised on the floor of the cave and took the chain with them, as far as he could tell.

Shadows, though. Ra's al Ghul's minions. Jason was starting to put together an extremely uncomfortable picture of what had happened to him. His dreams – nightmares, more often – were tinted green, and sometimes when he was fighting a kind of berserker rage came over him. He let it, because the madness was stronger than he was and could sometimes take out three or four ninja before they all piled on to subdue him.

And then it was six or seven. Ten. The day he handled fifteen and then whirled looking for more, Talia al Ghul showed her face. She had a sword in her hand. Jason launched himself at her and she had him laid out on his back in two strikes, blade at his throat.

"Congratulations," she said. "You're as useful as a rabid dog. I suppose it is an improvement over starved kitten."

Jason had been too far gone to answer her, but for the first time he tried to surface from the madness, because he had some things to say to her.

He couldn't manage it. He blacked out and when he woke up he was back in the cave. The next time someone came for him, it was some kind of highly respected martial arts master who said he was going to train Jason to control the madness.

His training seemed to consist mainly of dragging Jason out of the cave and beating him more soundly than any group of ninja had ever done. Other "teachers" visited Jason as well, and their lessons had that in common. Jason stopped trying to make sense of it after a while. He was just grateful he sometimes got to see again.

Then one day the light came to him, a dim, bobbing blue sparkle at the entrance to the cave where Jason was held. By now, Jason had been dragged out often enough that he could find it in the dark. It was an irregular opening in the cavern wall raised a foot or two off the ground and covered over with a barred door that raised and lowered like a portcullis. No lock to pick, and though Jason had tried, he wasn't strong enough to raise it himself. No one ever approached the door except to take him for lessons. As far as he could tell he didn't even have a single guard, and certainly not an eight-year-old boy.

Maybe he was hallucinating again; it still happened regularly, and he generally just let them run their course now, sometimes arguing with what he saw but rarely being goaded to attack shadows anymore. But why would he be hallucinating a child?

Jason squinted, raising a hand to try to block some of the light. It was little more than a glow clutched in the boy's hand, leaking through his fingers, but it was still a lot for Jason's eyes. He hadn't been out of the cave in a while.

The boy _tsk_ 'd softly, the expression on his face distant, as though Jason was a curiosity in a museum the kid hadn't wanted to spend a Saturday visiting. He had a roundish face and thick black hair. He looked vaguely familiar. Jason considered hurling a rock at him through the bars, but that wasn't always a reliable way to prove a hallucination; sometimes they interacted with the real world just fine, or sometimes the rock turned out to be a hallucination too.

"Who are you?" Jason asked. The boy didn't answer, just stared at him like he was going to have to make a diorama of his habitat later. Or maybe trying to figure out if Jason could be useful. Jason's eyes had adjusted by now and he lowered his hand, trying to see past the kid. "Are you a prisoner here?"

The boy narrowed his eyes at Jason and seemed about to speak, but just then five Shadows dropped out of nowhere, surrounding the kid. "Watch out!" Jason shouted, throwing himself at the bars. He tugged at them uselessly as the Shadows made a grab for the kid. He couldn't just stand by and let them—

The boy ducked the grasp of one Shadow, moving fluidly to the side, striking at the Shadow's back and then whirling to face another. Okay, so the kid had training. That didn't mean he could take on all of these by himself. Jason thrust his arms through the bars and managed to grab one of the Shadows, pulling him back against the grate and wrapping his arms around his thighs – as high as he could reach – so at least this would even the odds slightly. Then the Shadow jerked harshly and went limp.

"Your assistance was unnecessary," the boy said. Jason stared at him. He hadn't even dropped his light source in the fight. The four ninja Jason hadn't grabbed were sprawled out on the concrete and… was that blood? He dropped the one he'd restrained with a sudden horrible suspicion and the Shadow fell to the ground in a heap.

"You killed them," he said. "Is… is this real?" His head was swimming in a familiar way, the blue light taking on a green tint.

The boy scowled, then whirled, a dagger coming up to clash against the downward sweep of a sword. Talia stood over the child, a strange smile on her face. Jason couldn't place the emotion; he was too busy watching in horror as Talia broke free of the knife's guard and brought the sword around again. The kid dropped his light – it seemed to be a glowing blue stone – and pulled another dagger and for a moment Jason thought he might actually stand a chance. But Talia won the fight, using her height and reach advantage to slip through the kid's guard and knock the weapons from his hands. He took the loss of his weapons stoically and dropped to a perfect hand-to-hand fighting stance, but Jason could see it was over.

Talia blocked an open-handed strike and wrapped her fist in the front of the boy's tunic, then dashed him across the skull with the hilt of her sword. The boy went limp.

"Don't," Jason gasped, much too late. Talia glanced down at him, holding the boy up by the front of his clothing.

"Study harder, little Robin, and maybe someday you'll be in a position to help him," she said. Her eyes fell on the stone that the boy had dropped and she crouched to pick it up with her free hand, tucking it away into a pocket and sending Jason into pitch darkness once more.

 


	31. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

"I come bearing sustenance!" Barbara called out from the elevator, hauling the cart laden with sandwiches, a few pitchers of iced tea, and bottles of water with her. "And Alfred says you should all be sleeping anyway so no promises he didn't dope everything."

No one responded. Barbara moved a little farther in, toward the training area – where she promptly dropped her hold on the cart and sprinted across the mats, tackling Damian midair just as he leaped at Bruce's prone form.

"Back off you little gremlin!" she yelled, rolling with the kid and then bouncing to her feet, ready to fight. Damian lashed out at her with a back kick, but that was as far as it got.

"Stop," Bruce called, in exactly the voice he used for training exercises – meant to be obeyed instantly _especially_ when it said 'stop,' for all of their safety.

Damian didn't have that background, though, and was in the middle of launching a blow at Barbara's midsection when he was brought up short by Bruce's hand on the back of his tunic, lifting him into the air.

"When we're training," Bruce said, in lecturing mode. "'Stop' means _now_. There is no room for hesitation, or for being caught up in the moment."

"She was not a part of the exercise," Damian grumbled.

"I expect you to have better discernment than that," Bruce said. "We'll work on it." Damian flushed as Bruce set him back on his feet, but said nothing. Bruce turned to Barbara. "Training exercises."

"At 3 AM?" Barbara said. "No, you know what, I don't know why I'm surprised. Where's Tim?" Bruce jerked his head toward the main hub of the Cave. The computers. Of course. "He should have gone home by now," she muttered. She stalked over to the computer, leaving the food where it was. She'd rather drag Tim to it.

"I can't believe you're still in uniform," she said, coming up behind him. Tim jumped, and she hadn't been particularly stealthy. "You can at least ditch the mask, it's not like Damian doesn't know everything about all of us already."

"Yeah," Tim said, looking over to the training area. "Not feeling too great about that."

"Bruce can handle him."

"The same way he handled Dick? I don't think we should leave him alone," Tim said. "He's emotionally compromised."

Barbara snorted. "When _isn't_ he emotionally compromised? Or did you think dressing up in tights and a cape every night was a healthy way of dealing with emotions?"

Tim looked down at his own costume, then over at Babs. "Uh, you dress up in tights and a cape every night, too?"

"Yep. We're all a bunch of drama queens. The difference is I know it. So you should sleep."

"I— what? How did you get from— That doesn't make any sense," Tim said, his forehead wrinkling.

"That's just because you're sleep deprived."

"Yeah, I don't think that's it," Tim said, but he did turn back to the keyboard and began carefully saving and organizing his files so he could pick them up easily the next time he worked on them. "Was there food?"

"There was. Is. Alfred made sandwiches." She paused, giving Tim a considering look. "Jason's still up there with him."

"Oh?" Tim said, acting intensely uninterested and not fooling Barbara in the least. "How is he?"

"Strange," Barbara mused. "Not bad strange. Just different. He doesn't want to talk about what happened." Her eyes flicked to the monitors, where Dick hadn't moved, then back to Tim. "Can't blame him. He might like some company, though."

"What, really?" Tim said. "You think… me?" He laughed. "I don't think he likes me much and I'm about 99% certain I will say exactly the wrong thing." Like he had when he'd taken Jason to see his own memorial. What had he been thinking, dumping that on him right away? Batman's vigilante course did not include sensitivity training, and Tim regretted it.

"Oh go on. Alfred will protect you, and I think Jason could really use the distraction of someone he didn't know… you know, before."

"Well," Tim said slowly. "If you really think so, I guess I could just go up there. See how it goes." He was already standing and Babs put her arm around his shoulders, guiding him to the locker rooms.

It wasn't until he arrived upstairs to find Jason already "retired for the evening" that he realized he'd put himself inextricably in Alfred's clutches, and that Barbara had definitely planned that. Since there was nothing to be done about it, he submitted to Alfred's feeding and to being ushered to his own room for the evening without complaint.

 

Down in the Cave, Barbara settled into the large chair in front of the computer with a BLT and a bottle of water. She put her feet up on the console and stared at the security screens. "You're an asshole, Dick Grayson," she muttered to the monitors before taking a savage bite of the sandwich.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Bruce asked, suddenly behind her. Babs choked on lettuce, coughed once, and then managed to swallow, downing half the bottle of water.

"One of these days you really are going to kill someone doing that," she told Bruce, swiveling around in the chair to glare up at him.

"I know twenty different revival techniques. Do you?"

"No, I think I know like, three? Maybe?"

"Do you want to talk to him," Batman clarified. He was doing his infinitely-unflappable thing, which Barbara found annoying.

"Nope. I don't know that guy," she said, spinning the chair back around. "I've got nothing to say to him."

"Barbara—"

"Forget it, Bruce. Hey, where's your demon child?"

"Eating," Bruce said.

"You left him unsupervised?"

"I am fully aware of his movements."

"Right," Barbara said. She braced her foot up on the console again and twisted the chair back and forth. "So. What are we going to do with him?"

"Give him a place to stay until we figure out Dick's situation. Keep him away from the League of Assassins."

"Train him," Barbara added with a raised eyebrow.

"He's had a lot of that already. He's… very good."

Barbara pushed off the console and spun to a halt facing Bruce again. "Was that… _pride_? Oh my God, you actually believe he's your kid. And you're _proud_ of your little assassin child who _stabbed Tim_."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's still possible Talia was lying about his parentage, but I don't think so, no. We'll know for sure tomorrow. Either way, he's the product of his environment. I'll make sure the stabbing habit stops." He looked over his shoulder to where Damian was inspecting the sandwiches, gingerly lifting bread away from the contents of each until he found something satisfactory. "He's a little boy, Barbara."

"Well, if anyone can rehabilitate him I guess it's you." Across the Cave, Damian took his sandwich and began casually wandering in the direction of the armory. Bruce straightened, like a watch dog on alert.

"I should—"

"Yes you should," Barbara said, twirling back to the screens. Bruce stalked away toward Damian and Barbara finished her sandwich. On the screens, Dick shifted a little, then lay down on the floor, curled on his side, and Barbara got a look at the broken mask. All that was left of it were a few flecks of black clinging to his skin.

She got to her feet. "I'm too tired for this," she decided. She'd been planning on staying up to keep an eye on Bruce and Damian and Dick but she abruptly realized that it was not her job to take care of a grown man and his estranged sons. She had a full courseload, a paper coming up, regular patrols, Team meetings, her own family stuff… Bruce could take care of himself, had been for a long time. And since she didn't particularly feel like putting the Batgirl suit back on to ride home, she'd be just upstairs if she was needed, in the room she knew Alfred would have ready for her

She stood, gave the monitors one last look, snagged another sandwich, and headed upstairs.

 

Dick paced, and sat, and paced some more. He laid himself out on cell's bed – really more of a shelf built right out of the wall and floor – and tried to sleep, but couldn't. He stared at the cuffs around his wrists, tried to read the symbols, and failed. He stared at the ceiling. He tried not to panic.

How long had it been since Bruce had spoken with him? Since he had broken down in Bruce's arms? Since Bruce had left him alone in here? Ten years, at least. Maybe twenty.

He got to his feet abruptly and took two firm strides toward the door, intent on throwing himself at it until either he or it gave. Then he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and then another. It hadn't been that long. It _couldn't_ have been. Bruce would have come back, or Jason would have kept his promise _(unless it was a lie, it was probably a lie, people lie all the time, and what, you thought a few tears would be enough to make Bruce forgive you? They've locked you up and you're never getting out—)_

Dick crouched in the middle of the cell, head in his hands, blocking out the sight of the stark white walls, trying to think of something else, _anything_ else.

"You'd think he'd at least have left you a sudoku or something," Zatanna said.

Dick shot up and whirled. There she was, standing right in front of him, helm braced against her hip. "Z," Dick said.

"Dick," Zatanna said. "You ready to become a real boy again?"

Dick took a step back from her. "Where's Batman?"

"I'm sure he'll be along as soon as he notices I'm here. Don't worry, we won't start without him. I just wanted to get a look at you first."

"So look," Dick spat.

"I am." Her expression softened. "It's good to see your face again."

Dick's hand (dragging the other along in the cuffs) went to his face and the last flakes of the old, twisted mask fell away. "Does it make a difference?"

"It might. Look, Dick, the more you want this, the easier it's gonna be. So tell me the truth: how on board are you?"

Dick's grin was a little wobbly. "As on board as I can be. You don't know what it's like. I feel… like my brain is cracked in half and it can't agree with itself on anything. One second I'm convinced this is the best thing, the next I'm clawing at the walls trying to dig my way out, or ready to gnaw my own hand off at the wrist." He stopped, considered his wrists. "Actually, I could probably grow it back—"

"Hey, focus." Zatanna snapped her fingers under his nose. "No gnawing. This is going to be hard enough as it is without having to perform physical triage."

Dick swallowed. "Will it hurt?"

"…Yeah."

"Of course."

The door swished open and Batman swept in. "Zatanna. Welcome back. Are you ready?" The question was directed at them both, the cowl turning just slightly to Dick, watching for fear reactions, for panic, for any indication he might lash out or bolt.

Dick's hands were fists in the manacles. "No. But let's get it over with."

 


	32. The Himalayas: ~2.5 Years Ago

**The Himalayas  
 _Approximately 2 and a Half Years Ago_**

"No, no, no," Jason murmured. "Don't, _don't—_ ah!" He flinched back violently enough to strike his head against the wall of the cavern, Nightwing leaning over him.

"It'll all be over soon, little wing." He paused. "For now." Nightwing reached for Jason's head, weaving his fingers into his hair so he could get a good grip. Jason closed his eyes and breathed. It was not real. He knew that. If he didn't move, nothing would happen to him. Nightwing would not smash his skull open on the stone. He'd be fine.

He couldn't convince his body of that. He gave a low moan and drove his own fingers into his hair, trying to erase the feeling of Nightwing's, tugging to blot out imagined pain with real pain.

" _Todd_." A new voice, firm, arrogant, definitely used to being obeyed. Jason's eyes flew open and the image of Nightwing was blasted away by a soft glow of blue light. The kid was there. Standing in his cell.

"How did you get in here?" Jason was curled into the closest thing to a corner the irregular walls provided.

"Never mind. What is it you see when you allow these delusions to take over?"

" _Allow_?"

The kid rolled his eyes. "It is Pit madness. Surely you've been trained to control it by now."

Jason gave a shallow laugh and slumped to his side, staring at the kid's boots. "Harder when I'm starving, turns out." There was always food waiting for him in his cell when he was returned after a lesson, but it was barely enough. And he hadn't had a lesson in… a while. He couldn't tell how long, but based on his experience of hunger, it was probably about two days. "Nightwing," Jason said, answering the kid's question belatedly.

"The one who killed you."

"I look pretty good for a dead guy, right?"

"No, you look weak and wretched. Here." The kid thrust out half a loaf of bread, rounded and crusty, something that had been baked in an oven, not purchased in a store. Jason stared at it, then snatched it, holding it close. The kid stared at him for a few moments, then gestured impatiently. "Well? Eat."

Jason looked at him suspiciously and the kid sighed, taking two steps back and sitting down. "If you do not eat now, they will find it and take it from you. They are punishing you for your foolish escape attempt."

"I only did it to save you, ungrateful bastard." He'd cut and run from one of his teachers, determined to find the kid he hadn't seen in far too long. Foolish was a good word for it. Talia had not been amused.

"What gave you the idea that I need saving?"

"You're a kid hanging out with the League of Assassins. You need saving."

"I do not. You, on the other hand…"

Jason took a small bite of the bread in response. By now, he knew he had died. He knew Ra's had snatched his body and dumped him in the Pit. What he did not know were Ra's' motivations, or why all the training. But… if Nightwing thought he was dead, Jason thought maybe he could live with it. He hadn't attempted to escape until he'd thought this kid was in danger.

"Hey, kid. What's your name?" Jason asked.

"Most call me 'my lord' or 'my prince.' You may do so."

Jason almost snorted bread through his nose. The kid looked angry for half a second then made a visible effort to smooth his features. "If you cannot handle a respectful term of address, I suppose… if you must… you may call me Damian."

"Damian, huh? Seems appropriate. Well, thanks, Damian."

"For what?"

"The company. The light. The bread. I don't know what your deal is, kid, but I guess we're in this together."

Damian made one of his derisive _tt_ noises and turned on his heel. But when he left, he left the glowing stone behind.

 


	33. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Dick woke slowly, stretching indulgently from his toes all the way up. He must have slept solidly, because he felt like he hadn't moved for about a week, maybe longer. His eyes cracked open just a slit, expecting sunshine.

What he got was nothingness, an endless expanse of starless dark that he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of, though there was nothing to sit on.

The palms of his hands hurt.

"What…?" he wondered out loud, mostly to insert some sound into his environment. He looked down at himself just to give his eyes something to do. He was wearing a comfortable old pair of jeans, a much-washed t-shirt in his favorite shade of blue. So his eyes were working fine, which was nice.

"Hey," said a voice from behind him. It sounded vaguely familiar. Dick spun (easy to do even sitting, easy as thinking) and stared. "Are you okay?" Nightwing asked.

"Uh," Dick said, looking down at himself again, and then up at Nightwing, who was walking toward him as though the nothingness had a floor. He looked… like Dick. The outfit was perfect, down to every detail, and Dick recognized his gait, his movements, as his own.

Nightwing offered Dick a hand. "It's okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

"You're…?"

"Nightwing," Nightwing said with a charming smile. Dick worked hard on that smile. He was glad it looked as effortless from an outside perspective as he intended.

"Creepy," said another voice. The same voice. And again, it came from behind Dick. He craned his head around.

Nightwing, but wrong. The blue emblem on his chest shattered, the mask twisted. Dick shot to his feet.

"Don't look so alarmed," said the other Nightwing – Witchwing, echoed a voice in Dick's memory, a voice he couldn't place. He wore a smile as well, also charming, but the sort of charming that should be admired from a distance because it was plastered across jaws that could snap closed in an instant with three thousand pounds of force.

Curls of sparkling black smoke were rising from his hands. Nightwing stepped between him and Dick, drawing his escrima sticks. Dick watched his hands. They weren't smoking, but was there a stiffness as the fingers curled around the sticks? He wasn't sure.

"Get out," Nightwing said. "No one wants you here."

"No one asked you," Witchwing said.

"What's going on?" Dick wondered aloud.

"We're cleaning house," Nightwing said. He ran at Witchwing, escrima sticks sparking. Witchwing ducked and rolled to the side, thrusting out a foot to sweep Nightwing as he hurtled past. It caught on Nightwing's ankle, but Nightwing tilted into a somersault and came up with a flung escrima stick that shot directly at Witchwing's forehead.

Witchwing caught it at the last second. He winced as his hand closed around it and Dick's hand gave a painful throb at the same time. Witchwing tossed the stick aside, into the abyss, but it reappeared in Nightwing's hand instantly.

"Wait," Dick said. "Zatanna. The ritual. We shouldn't be fighting!" he called to them both. They ignored him and continued, trading perfectly pinpointed strikes in what was almost a dance. Dick growled and dove in, leaping onto Nightwing's back since he was closest and trying to wrestle him away from Witchwing.

"See? _Someone_ wants me to stick around," Witchwing said, aiming a kick at Nightwing's torso. Dick twisted, tossing Nightwing to the ground and taking the kick on his own side. "Hey, don't get in the way," Witchwing complained.

Dick responded by flinging himself at Witchwing next, not a strategic move in the least, just one intended to back Witchwing off a little. He stood between the two of them as Nightwing got up.

"What are you doing, Dick?" Nightwing asked wearily. "We need to get rid of him."

"If you ask me, _he's_ the one who should go," Witchwing snarled. "He's just you in a mask. There's nothing the two of you can do that the two of _us_ couldn't do better, plus a whole lot more."

"For example, crack the world like an egg," Nightwing said. "I've been trying to get rid of you since the moment you showed up here."

"I was invited!" Witchwing snapped. "I didn't see _you_ getting us out of that cell the Light had us in."

"Stop it!" Dick shouted. "Neither of you is me! You don't get to decide!"

They both stared at him.

"What the hell do you mean I'm not you?" Nightwing asked quietly. "Are you seriously going to deny this part of your life? The one you chose for yourself?"

"You've tried to deny me before," Witchwing told Dick. "Didn't turn out well then. Won't turn out well now."

"Just… just stop fighting," Dick insisted, putting a hand to his head. Could he get a headache here? And was that a fever he felt, or was his hand just hot? "Zatanna and Doctor Fate are trying to help us right now. We have to be ready for whatever she tries to do."

"Ready to fight it, you mean?" Witchwing said. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Ready to help her, he means," Nightwing said.

"If you think we're going to give up all this power just because _Batman_ says it's the right thing to do—" Witchwing started.

"It _is_ the right thing to do!" Nightwing interrupted, taking an aggressive step forward. Dick put his hands out in a vain effort to keep them separated, but before they could go at it again the darkness was pierced by a brief, blinding golden glow.

When it faded, a man hovered above them, his skin a dark brown, his black hair floating in twists and coils around his head, a broad collar of gold and colored stones draped over his shoulders and a white cloth belted around his waist.

He looked down at Dick, Nightwing, and Witchwing with no expression and extended a hand off to the side. The darkness cracked, letting in streaks of gold. Then it twisted, like it was being dragged down a drain, more and more of the dark bleeding away into the gold. Dick felt a strong wind pick up, dragging in the direction of the spreading light. He almost lost his footing, but Nightwing grabbed his arm.

"Pretty sure you shouldn't be meddling like this, Nabu," Witchwing said.

"The instability presented by your existence threatens all worlds," Nabu intoned.

"You can't touch me here. I was invited, and I'm staying!"

"You are not anchored. I will touch you if I wish it." Nabu extended his other hand and glowing chains appeared in the air, slithering toward Witchwing, who only stood there and grinned – and fizzled out of sight when the chains wrapped around him, a mere illusion.

"Behind you!" Nightwing shouted just as Witchwing appeared behind Nabu, a spear of energy in an upraised hand. Nightwing yelled and launched himself into the air, intending to drive Nabu out of the way…

…but that Witchwing was an illusion, too.

"You know," the real Witchwing said, appearing directly behind Dick to whisper in his ear. Dick started, but Witchwing grabbed him by the back of the neck and held him in place. "I don't think it's Nightwing that's the problem. I think it's plain, boring, human you."

He picked Dick up and hurled him into the vortex.

 

Zatanna sucked in a harsh breath and her eyes flew open.

"What is it?" Batman demanded. They were both sitting on the floor of the quarantine cell, one on either side of Dick. Dick lay between them, to all appearances comatose, hands cradling the Helm of Fate, which rested on his stomach. Near Dick's feet sat a small box with a hinged lid standing open. It was made of a material that looked like tungsten steel but was really some compound that didn't actually exist on Earth, engraved on every side with onyx etchings. When the box was closed, the symbols engraved in the lid would match up with those in the base, sealing the box permanently.

An actual container wasn't really required, Zatanna had told him, but it helped with the visualization, and symbolism counted for a lot with magic. This box was where the chaos energy inside Dick should be going in a modified version of an anchor ritual that would strangle the back-and-forth connection that usually existed between an anchor and its creator.

Zatanna had also told Batman that his presence in the room was unnecessary. She and Nabu would be handling all the magical heavy lifting. But she also hadn't forbidden him to stay.

Until just this moment, it had looked as though things were going well. The shards of blue scattered across Dick's chest and shoulders had begun inching back toward each other. Then Dick's hands had begun smoking and Zatanna had scowled in her trance and now—

"No," Zatanna snarled. " _Yats tup_ you asshole." She put a hand on Fate's helmet and it flared gold. Dick cried out, but didn't wake. Batman's hands clenched and he bit down on his demands for explanation.

Dick's back arched away from the floor. He made a noise that was part gasp, part scream, and a glittering charcoal-colored cloud began forcing its way out of his throat.

Zatanna's eyes went wider. "No!" Her hand flew from the helm and over Dick's mouth, pressing down, stopping the cloud from spilling out any further. There was a low, steady stream of words falling from her lips. It took Batman a moment to realize they were all swear words from a variety of magical languages.

"Zatanna," Batman said, his voice urgent.

"Close the box," Zatanna snapped. "Close it and get it out of the room. Go!"

Batman was already moving, snapping the lid down and striding to the door of the cell. It swished open and he hurled the box down the hall and closed the door again.

"Small change of plan," Zatanna muttered. Batman knew she wasn't talking to him. "Just… a little improvisation…"

He moved back around to take his place at Dick's side and saw that her eyes had gone entirely white. Not rolled back, just _white_ , and glowing slightly. Her hand was still over Dick's mouth, but Batman could hear the muffled sounds of pain escaping anyway. Zatanna's other hand went to Dick's chest, over his heart.

She said a word. It made Batman's ears hurt. Dick's screams turned to a low, whining keen. Zatanna removed her hand from his mouth and shifted it to his eyes. When Zatanna spoke again, another word Batman's mind could not grasp, her voice was Fate's.

The bird on Dick's chest crashed into cohesion and then exploded again, flying from his chest in a starburst of blue smoke and followed rapidly by a flood of black that whooshed by. Batman shielded his face with an arm. When he lowered it Dick was completely naked, except for a few wreaths of smoke that still lingered, all that remained of the suit he'd conjured for himself.

Zatanna spoke five more times and by the time she was through Batman had a slight nosebleed. Dick was lying flat again, silent, unmoving. Batman wasn't sure that was a good thing. Then the light faded from Zatanna's eyes and she took a deep breath and lifted her hands away from Dick's chest and his eyes. She gave Batman a small smile and fell over.

"Zatanna?" Batman said. "Zatanna! Did it work? Is he all right?"

"Helmet," Zatanna croaked, sprawled by Dick's side. She lifted a hand and fluttered it weakly at the helm. Batman pulled it from Dick's grasp and stared as Dick's hands fell to his sides. There were marks on Dick's palms, fluid geometric symbols Batman recognized from his studies in the Tower of Fate. They glowed red like embers before fading to black. They weren't the only ones. Others were scattered across his body, different shapes over his heart, at his throat, low on his stomach, all fading to black just like the ones on his hands.

Batman crossed over to Zatanna and put the helmet down by her head. She flopped over onto her back.

"What. Happened," he asked, glaring down at her.

"I… don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know."

"Something went wrong. Gotta talk to Nabu."

"Is Dick all right?"

Zatanna closed her eyes. "I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

 


	34. Gotham: ~3 Years - 2.5 Years Ago

**Gotham  
_Approximately 3 Years to 2 and a Half Years Ago_**

Tim healed, slowly but perfectly. He was lucky, the doctors said, young enough to bounce back. He would be fine.

Barbara wasn't so sure. Even after he'd been released from the hospital to complete his recovery at home, he was quiet. As far as she could tell, he never had anyone over except for her, Bruce, or whoever might be guarding him. He finished his schoolwork from home but no friends ever came by to bring him notes or fill him in on what he was missing in the social scene. His parents didn't put in an appearance until two months into his recovery, and then they were gone again just as quickly. It made it easier to keep watch over him, but it was concerning.

Maybe he was just a quiet kid, Zatanna suggested when she wasn't acting as Fate. Barbara still worried about his isolation.

When he'd almost completed his recovery and there had been not an inkling of Nightwing coming anywhere near them, the question of how to continue watching over him arose.

"Couldn't I take care of myself?" Tim asked Barbara. They were in his room, running through his physical therapy exercises.

"Tim, Nightwing's not some thug on the street. _None_ of us can take him," Barbara said, though reluctantly. Tim so rarely voiced his thoughts that she didn't want to shut him down.

"I know that," Tim said, a little anger creeping into his voice. He softened it almost immediately. "I was just thinking. Self-defense, maybe a little martial arts training. Just to… make me feel safer?"

He smiled hopefully at her and Barbara grinned back despite herself. "I know what you're doing, Tim. Giving me exactly the argument I want to hear so you get what you want. What are you really thinking?"

"What do you mean?" Tim asked guilelessly. "You know, I was pretty active before… before this. It would just be nice to get back to that."

"Yeah I imagine chasing vigilantes across rooftops was quite the workout," Barbara said. Tim shrugged with one shoulder. Barbara wasn't fooled. When Tim was consciously trying to play nice with someone, he paused a lot when speaking. He acted indifferent, easy-going, as though the outcome didn't matter, as though he hadn't already carefully considered every word and decided what to say. But she'd been hanging out with him for months, had seen him when he was elbow-deep in something he was passionate about. When he'd finally showed her his collection of Batman and Robin photos, talking about the circumstances of each shot, there was no hesitation, no shyness, just excitement, assessment, and often, woundingly sharp insight.

"You took self-defense classes on your own before you became Batgirl. Some pretty intense training there. I bet no one ever messes with you. You can see confidence in the way you walk. I want that," Tim said.

"Well," Barbara said. "Self-defense classes are a good idea for anyone. And it certainly couldn't hurt to help get you active again. Just as long as you're not harboring any crazy ideas about getting revenge on Nightwing or something."

"That would be dumb," Tim said. "Revenge is a zero-sum game. Justice is more important."

"…Not reassuring me here, Timmy."

He smiled at her. "Of course I'm not planning anything crazy, Babs. I'll leave that to the superheroes."

 

One year later, Batman had a new Robin. There were any number of reasons for it, like Batman wanting a partner in the field, Batman's colleagues worrying about how harsh he was getting on criminals who distracted him from his Nightwing research, and Batgirl not having anything like the temperament to be a sidekick. But the biggest reason was probably because Tim couldn't seem to stay out of it.

Long before he was even allowed to put on the cape, Tim had been showing up at Wayne Manor with folders full of research, handing Batman completed cases for crimes he hadn't even begun to look into yet. It was clear to everyone that he was going to end up leaping head-first into something deadly before long if he didn't get the proper training (which wouldn't prevent the leaping, but might help with the deadliness).

So Batman made sure he had it, with one caveat: he was not to go anywhere near the Nightwing case. Tim agreed, reluctantly, though Barbara privately suspected he had a partitioned drive somewhere in the Cave with his own research on Nightwing. He couldn't help it; he'd been chasing after Robins so long, it was habit to keep logging his movements.

Not that there were many of those. After the Reach incident, Dick was rarely spotted on Earth. Sometimes he'd be there when Klarion decided to pick a fight with Fate, but it was always unclear how willingly he was helping Klarion and he seemed just as likely to attack one as the other.

Barbara and Bruce both knew that they couldn't keep the new Robin secret for long, and the first time Tim was nearby after a Nightwing encounter, both held their breath for weeks. But Nightwing didn't seem to care. He'd simply smirked at Tim, congratulated him on inheriting the tights, and took off. Tim had spent a solid month after that being irritable and short-tempered whenever Batman vanished for a research session with Fate, still solidly opposed to involving Tim in any way.

Batman and Fate were making headway in potential methods for catching and holding Dick. The trouble was testing their solutions; chaos lords weren't exactly easy to come by. At least Barbara's part in this was pretty well over. She'd certainly be on hand to help when the time came, but hunting down what had happened to Dick, what he'd gone through at the hands of Ra's al Ghul and Vandal Savage… sometimes she still had dreams about it, never mind about that one horrible night in Crime Alley.

That research had most likely been copied to Tim's file, too, but, well, at least that meant Barbara had someone to talk to about it. The more time passed, the easier she found it to discuss what she'd learned, what Nightwing had done.

But Tim never talked about what had happened to him.

 


	35. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Dick woke with a splitting headache. His mouth tasted like he'd licked one of the stalactites the Cave's bats were particularly fond of. He groaned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes – and realizing, as he did so, that his hands were not cuffed. He stared at them for a few moments, blankly. Then he remembered.

"Did it work?" he wondered aloud. He turned his hands over, found the marks on his palms, touched one with the fingers of his other hand. It seemed slightly warm. He looked down at himself, noticing the mark over his heart and the one lower down, below his navel, an inch or two above his—

He was naked. That was new. A glance around found a blanket he must have kicked off and clothes folded neatly on the end of the bench that passed for a bed in the quarantine cell. He reached for them, trying not to think of months spent in thin, impersonal cotton clothes and test facilities, but when he tugged away the plain navy t-shirt folded on top it revealed Superman-patterned pajama pants beneath.

Dick blinked and extended a hand tentatively, running his fingers over the tiny shields dancing happily down bright blue fabric. The pants were worn a bit around the waistband, the elastic almost showing through in one spot. He knew if he looked at the hems he'd find them faded and discolored from years of dragging on the ground. They were his favorite pair.

He pulled them into his lap, but didn't put them on, fingers bunching in the fabric as he drew them up to his face and inhaled. They smelled like his room at Mount Justice, a smell he normally wouldn't notice at all because it smelled like _him_ , but he had been gone so long…

The tears, when they came this time, were not accompanied by sobs and gasps. They just poured out, hot on his cheeks, his mouth twisting in a grotesque snarl of grief and relief and regret. He pressed the thin material to his face to blot out the cell and to soak up his heartache, and waited for the tears to run their course.

 

"He's awake," Barbara said. Across the Cave on the training mats, Batman and Damian froze. Batman immediately dropped the training exercise and stalked over. Damian, looking put out, trailed behind him.

"He's crying. Again," Damian commented.

"Damian," Batman said, stern. "Go run the agility course."

"You cannot—"

"Tim's best time is a minute five," Batman added.

"What? Preposterous. Let me see this course." Damian stomped off to prove his superiority and Babs hid a smile. Damian had been increasingly fidgety about being stuck down in the Cave. He'd slept a little, but then kept trying to sneak upstairs. Jason had finally come down to prove he was fine (and, Babs thought, to make sure Damian was fine) but he hadn't stayed long at all before retreating again.

Babs had been on her own with Damian while Zatanna and Batman did whatever it was they needed to do with Dick. The magic had shorted out the security cameras pretty quickly, so Babs could only wait and watch Damian like a hawk as he pretended not to be nervous about the ritual going on down the hall. Tim was at Babs' place working on his project to locate Ra's al Ghul. They'd all agreed it was a good idea not to tell him it was time for the ritual. And Jason was pointedly staying away, wanting nothing to do with magic.

"Tim's best time is a minute thirty," Barbara noted when Damian was out of earshot.

"I know," Batman said.

"How's Zatanna?"

"Recovering. She says she'll be fine as soon as she and Fate rest back at the Tower. We should let her know Dick's awake, though." He made no move to do so.

On screen, Dick took a deep breath, mopped his face one last time with the pajamas, and started to get dressed. Batman straightened suddenly, looking from the screen to Babs.

"Relax, Bruce. I'm a professional," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's not like there's a lot of room for modesty in our business."

"Hm."

"So, how concerned are we about his eyes?" She'd thought it was a trick of the camera at first, or that she'd seen wrong, but it was clear now. Dick's eyes were a solid black.

"It may be a side-effect."

"Um, I think it's definitely a side-effect, yeah," Babs said. "But a side-effect of a successful procedure, or a failed one?"

Dick, now dressed, stood and wandered to the observation window of the cell. He pressed his fingers to it briefly, then looked down at his hand, running a thumb over the symbol there. Then he wrapped his arms around himself, backed into a corner, and slid down to the ground, staring at the door.

"I moved him into a cell with no wards. The only thing keeping him in there is a locked door. There's nothing preventing him from escaping magically, if he's capable."

Barbara's eyebrows went up. "You must have been pretty sure it worked, then."

"The cell doesn't have wards. The Cave still does. We'd catch him before he got too far."

"And before he injured anyone?"

"A calculated risk."

Babs stared at him, but Batman didn't notice.

"I think it worked," Batman went on. "I'll go and talk to him to make sure."

"Uh, no," Babs said, stepping between him and the direction he'd need to go.

"No?"

" _I'll_ go talk to him. You can listen in."

"Barbara—"

"Bruce, you're biased. You were already hugging him when he was evil," Babs pointed out.

"Evil isn't exactly—"

"Biased," Barbara insisted. "I'm going in. You watch. Analyze. Do your profiling thing."

They stared each other down for a few moments until finally Batman nodded, just a miniscule dip of the chin. Barbara turned on her heel and marched toward the containment area before he could change his mind.

"Barbara," Batman called after her. "Suit up first."

Interesting. Batman would always put himself in danger first when possible, so letting her go talk to Dick first was a sign of his confidence in whatever Zatanna had done. But he wasn't confident enough to let her go unarmored and unarmed. Well, Girl Scouts and Bats had the same motto, and Babs had been both thus far in her life. "Of course," she called back, detouring to the locker rooms. "And call Zatanna!"

 

The door opened and Dick's head snapped up from where he'd been resting it on crossed arms propped on raised knees. He was still pressed into the corner of the cell. Batgirl, her expression blank, stood in front of the door, which swished closed behind her.

"Babs," Dick said.

She tossed him a bottle of water. He put up a hand to catch it, fumbled it, and picked it up off the floor. He tried to open it and winced as the rough edges of the cap dug into his palm.

Batgirl frowned at him. "I can't tell if you're overacting or if you're really this pathetic."

Dick glared up at her and used the hem of his shirt to cover his hand and twist the cap off. "I've just been through a mystical ritual I kind of suspect Zatanna invented off the top of her head," he said. "I think I get a pass."

Batgirl didn't answer, just watched him take a drink.

"What?" he asked. "You look like you're waiting for me to react to the drugs you magically left in this sealed water bottle."

"No, drugging you wouldn't prove anything. We don't know how someone like you _should_ react to drugs."

"Oh, that makes me feel much better, thanks," Dick said. He and Batgirl stared at each other for a few moments, she still by the door, he still curled in his corner. "So," he said finally. "Batgirl."

"Yep."

"When did that happen?"

"Not long after you vanished. Still have kind of a hard time believing it. That you're actually Dick Grayson. Or," she amended, "You were."

Dick scoffed. "Whatever I am, I'm me. They never took my name from me and I won't let you do it either."

"Dick would never hurt someone the way you have. Tim, Jason – and I don't care that you didn't actually kill Jason. What you did was bad enough."

"You think I don't know that?" Dick said. "That's for me and Jason to work out, and me and Tim. I don't owe you anything."

"We were friends, Dick!" Batgirl said, her temper rising. "Except apparently I was missing half your life and by the time I figured it out, you were _gone_. And I'm not convinced you've come back."

"That's why you're here, then? To be convinced one way or the other?" Dick got to his feet, dropping the water bottle. "I don't have the answers, _Batgirl_. Why don't you get your pet Lord of Order back in here to do some more tests, and, and—" He felt his chest seize and closed his eyes, flinching away from the fluctuation of power he knew would follow.

But it didn't. Threads of reality didn't unravel around him, the firmament remained firm.

He was just having a panic attack, which felt about as good. His throat burned as he strained to pull in air. His chest felt like a black hole had taken up residence between his lungs.

"Dick?" Batgirl was standing much closer now, reaching for his shoulders, her tone suddenly much calmer, deliberately regulated. "Hey, listen, I'm going to count for you. In four, hold four, out four. Okay? In, two, three, four…"

Dick glared at her. If he could control his breathing he wouldn't be doing _this_ with it. He shrugged her off and tried to take a deep breath, but it ended up being a series of short, hitching gulps of air. "Don't touch me," he managed between them.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine, I'm not going to touch you and neither is anyone else. No one is going to hurt you." She took a step back.

Dick got his breathing slightly more under control, enough that he wouldn't pass out, but his chest still hurt, his heart was still racing.

"Zatanna's not even here," Batgirl said, her voice even and calm. "She went back to the Tower. She's recovering. Like you."

"Oh, so now I'm _recovering_ ," Dick said. "Get out, leave me alone."

"I don't think you actually want that, Dick," Batgirl said.

Behind her, the door swished open and Dick started like a rabbit. Bruce swept in, his cowl off but the rest of the uniform in place.

"Bruce," Batgirl started.

"Go keep an eye on Damian," Bruce ordered.

"I'm not a babysitter, Bruce," Batgirl protested.

"And you're not doing any good in here."

"Fine," Batgirl said. She hesitated before leaving, though. "I still don't know exactly what's going on, Dick, but at least you seem… better. More human."

Dick laughed, harsh. "Yay."

Batgirl sighed. "Feel better. I'll go make sure Damian doesn't… I don't know, do anything. At all."

She left and Dick turned his attention to Bruce, feeling cornered, his heart pattering staccato behind his ribs. "What did you do to me?" he asked. "What— what are you going to do?"

Bruce, moving slowly, sat on the bench. Dick stayed standing, his back pressed to the wall. "We attempted to draw out the chaos in you. But, from what Zatanna told me, what happened instead was that your… humanity, for lack of a better word, almost came out instead. She doesn't know why."

Dick closed his eyes, remembering, Bruce's words distracting him enough that his breathing faded back into automatic, his brain willing to take a slight detour from panic-mode. "Lost a fight," he said. "Against myself. The chaos was stronger."

Bruce inclined his head as though that made perfect sense. "When it became clear that that was not going to work, Zatanna… sealed you. That's what those marks are. Instead of removing the chaos, it's locked inside. She anchored you to yourself."

Dick blinked at him. "She what?"

"How do you feel, Dick?"

Wrung out, anxious, confused… but he could _think_. He could recognize and identify the source of each of those feelings, even if he couldn't do much about feeling them. He did not feel like his mind was split apart, like he could see the cracks in the universe, or like he was going to _cause_ those cracks.

"Better," he said cautiously.

"Good. When Zatanna recovers, I imagine she'll want to talk to you herself— what is it?"

Dick had shuddered, visibly. "Nothing," he said. "Whatever you need to do. I don't—" He paused and took a slow, deep breath. It snagged in his throat a little, but he maintained it. "I don't think I can stop you. It should be safe," he finished, very quietly.

Bruce stood. "Dick, you are allowed to say no. We'll respect that."

Dick shot him a sharp look. "Really? Was I allowed to say no earlier? When you were hunting me across the world, when you captured me and dragged me back here last time?"

"You were hurting people, Dick. You had to be stopped."

"I know!" Dick snapped. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, took another breath. "I know, I just— I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know how to handle this."

"Slowly. One day at a time," Bruce advised. "Talking to Zatanna – and Doctor Fate – will help. _Just_ talking," he emphasized. Dick nodded numbly. "Can I get you anything?" Bruce asked.

"Get me anything? You mean… I have to stay in here?"

"For the time being. Until we know for sure exactly what happened during that ritual and that there are no—" His eyes met Dick's. "—side-effects."

"Right," Dick whispered. "Of course."

Bruce put his hands on Dick's shoulders. "If you need anything, just ask." He gestured at the corners of the cell. "You know we're watching."

"Yeah. I know."

Bruce gave him a lingering look before leaving the cell.

 


	36. The Himalayas: ~2 Years Ago

**The Himalayas  
_Approximately Two Years Ago_**

His latest instructor had dislocated Jason's arm.

His latest instructor now had a broken nose and a shattered kneecap. Jason was trying not to feel smug about that, but he had to hang on to _something_ positive. He'd lost himself to the Pit madness again and while it had accomplished ending the lesson for the day, it had also meant he came out of it just in time to land on his injured shoulder when seven elite Shadows tossed him back into his cell.

He was getting better at controlling the Pit in his head, he _was_ , it was just that when he heard that tearing _pop_ in his shoulder he'd immediately been back in a Gotham alley, facedown with Nightwing standing over him wondering if his injuries were sufficiently fatal.

Jason groaned and rolled onto his back. The darkness in the cave cell was absolute; he'd hidden the glowstone Damian had left behind, unsure if it had been a mistake but certain that the Shadows or his teachers would take it from him if they discovered it. He'd gathered up every loose rock in his little cavern and built a cairn over the stone, effectively smothering its glow. The light it gave off never wavered or dimmed. He wasn't sure how long it had been since Damian had left him the last time, but it had been long enough that any chemical phosphorescence should have faded.

Jason didn't much care how it worked; it was enough that it did. He took it out when the hallucinations were particularly bad and it seemed to help. The drawback, of course, was that he still couldn't see the rest of the time. Like now, for example.

Well, visibility or no, he knew it was highly unlikely he'd be fixing his shoulder by himself. He grasped it experimentally with his opposite hand but immediately gave it up when the pain roared down his arm and across both shoulders.

"Fuck," he muttered, breaths coming harshly. He knew from experience that injury wouldn't get him out of his next lesson, whenever that might be. Unless something life-threatening happened to him, Talia wouldn't intervene. Maybe he could use a wall to shove the joint back into the socket.

He rolled to his knees, then struggled to his feet and staggered to where he thought the nearest wall was. He'd miscalculated slightly; his foot nudged the little pile of rocks and a soft blue glow suffused this corner of the cavern.

"Also fuck," he said. Hiding the glowstone again would take two hands. He turned his back to the wall, slowly pressing his shoulder against it, just a bit of pressure, seeing if this was anything like feasible and quickly determining that he'd probably pass out from the pain before getting the joint anywhere near aligned.

"What are you doing?"

Jason jerked, then swore again as the movement jolted his arm.

"You're injured." Damian stepped forward. Jason had yet to figure out how he got in here; he hadn't heard the grate over the opening move and the first thing he'd done when he'd been left with light was search for any tunnels or passages. He hadn't found any.

"What, really?" Jason said. "I hadn't noticed."

"Sarcasm," Damian said. "Charming. Lie down. I will fix your arm."

"You're like, two feet tall."

"Which is why you will lie down."

"Do you know what you're doing?" Jason asked, but he was already bending.

"I am trained in first aid. I daresay I will do a better job than you would on your own. Though if you prefer to leave the shoulder as-is…"

"No," Jason said. "If you can fix it, do it." He lay down on his back and moved his arm to the side as well as he could. Damian took it in surprisingly gentle hands, extended it, and began to rotate it back and forth.

"Relax as much as you can," he instructed.

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Jason muttered. Then, "Ah!" It was back in place. The pain immediately lessened, though it was still sore. "Thanks," Jason said. He went over to the corner where he kept the pile of rocks and began rebuilding it.

Damian watched him for a few moments. "What happened?" he asked.

"To the arm? 'Master' Kosma didn’t like my attitude."

"I saw him a moment ago. On his way to the infirmary."

"Yeah, well, I didn't like his attitude either."

"You lost control," Damian said. His lip curled. "Is a little pain all it takes?"

Jason turned one of the rocks in his hand before placing it carefully. "No. That's not all it takes. Though I want it known that I would have done that to him anyway, Pit madness or no."

"You wouldn't have been able to," Damian said dismissively. "Not without the strength loaned by the rage. If you could, he would not still be teaching you."

He was probably right. Jason shrugged with his good shoulder.

"So?" Damian pressed. "What was it?"

"Just bad memories. Are you going to take the light back?"

"What?" Damian's eyebrows creased together for a moment. "Oh, that. No, why should I? I have half a dozen more. It's nothing."

Jason hid a tiny smile by focusing on his cairn. He left the rocks off the top so he and Damian would still have a little light to see by. The kid fronted well, but Jason knew a lot about putting up a tough façade. "Seems like I always have more to thank you for. Since I already owe you…" He trailed off, not sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"What is it?" Damian asked, impatient as ever.

"You know where I come from?"

"Gotham," Damian said. "Yes, I know."

"After… what happened to me. I've been wondering what happened back there. I was killed, and it's possible, well, maybe I wasn't the only one." It had been bothering him in the darkness between lessons. At first he'd been too disoriented, too full of rage and the Pit, too focused on surviving, to wonder. But now… "Did he get anyone else? Batman? Batgirl?"

" _Tt_. No. They are alive and well."

"Oh," Jason said. It wasn't exactly relief that curled around his heart and squeezed. It was, he realized with surprise, homesickness. "Oh."

"He's replaced you."

Jason cocked his head at Damian. "What? What do you mean replaced?"

"Batman has been seen with a new Robin."

"He— he _what_?" Jason shot to his feet. "No way. He _wouldn't_."

Damian crossed his arms. "I would not lie to you."

"Maybe… maybe Batgirl or one of the others just put on the costume for some reason," Jason said. "He wouldn't drag some new kid into it."

"The 'new kid' is Timothy Jackson Drake," Damian said.

The name rang a distant bell, but Jason wasn't interested in stopping to listen to it. "Then… then Batman must have caught Nightwing," Jason said. That would change things.

"No. He seems content to chase after him, always trailing behind. Nightwing and Fate clash on occasion, but Batman is playing some other game."

"Then _why?_ " Jason demanded, not actually expecting Damian to answer. "Why would he train someone new? It's a death sentence." He began to pace. "That selfish _bastard_. Nightwing sold himself to chaos, I _died_ , and he thinks, what, try, try again? How— fucking— irresponsible!" He drew back his arm to hit a wall but something stopped him. He looked down. Damian had grabbed his arm.

"That's your injured shoulder," Damian said. Jason snarled and threw the kid off of him. Damian landed easily in a crouch. "Do not test me, Todd. I am not the one you want to be fighting."

The dull green cast the blue light had taken on said otherwise. Jason shook his head, trying to clear it. "And what kind of idiot would you have to be to pick up the Robin legacy at this point, anyway?" he seethed. "It's _cursed_. That kid deserves whatever he gets." The echo of pain in his shoulder, the flashback earlier today; Jason was losing this fight and having a hard time caring. "So does Batman."

Damian was watching him with cold eyes, not nervous in the least. Calculating. Assessing. Bruce used to watch him like that. Jason snarled, "You should go."

"If you wish to fight, I will oblige you. Though I warn you, I will not go easy on you." The kid actually sounded a little eager.

Jason's fist was clenched so hard it hurt. He forced it to open, turned his face away to stare at the source of light in the corner, where it was bluest. Was this how Nightwing had felt, when he'd discovered Jason alone in Gotham, taking care of things on his own? The idea settled heavy in Jason's stomach. "I'm not gonna fight a kid."

"Hm," Damian said. He took in Jason's relaxed hands, the way he was breathing, and nodded. "Well, then. I shall leave you." He turned toward the grate covering the entrance. "And Todd – you do well to hide the stone. They would take it if they knew. I won't bring you another." And, to Jason's exasperation, he simply _slipped through the bars_. Advantages of being about eight years old, Jason thought.

He went back to the glowstone and finished concealing it. Then he stood, felt his way to one of the stalagmites thrusting up from the irregular floor of the cave, and hit it. He had enough presence of mind to use the arm he hadn't dislocated, but that was about it. After a fair amount of yelling and a few bloodied knuckles, he subsided, sinking to the floor and pressing his head against the stalagmite. Only then did it occur to him that he had not asked Damian for proof of any kind. Maybe he would the next time he saw him, if he visited again, but for now… Jason had to admit, it seemed like the kind of thing Bruce would do.

The Shadows sent to retrieve him the next time had cause to regret the assignment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are only 3 chapters left, so I think I will post them all together next weekend - for those of you using bookmarks to check in, expect a 3-chapter update instead of the usual 2!


	37. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
_Now_**

Babs yanked off her cowl as she stalked from the containment cells. She found Damian still in the training area. Jason was throwing knives at him, and as much as Barbara appreciated the sentiment, he didn't look like he was really trying. Damian had a wooden practice sword and was deflecting the knives with ease. Babs wondered if Bruce knew Jason had come down and had just used Damian as an excuse to get her out of the cell. Seemed likely.

The DNA test results had come in exactly as expected and Damian was definitely Bruce's kid. Babs still wasn't sure if she felt better or worse about that, but she definitely knew she didn't _trust_ the stab-happy little demon. But if Jason was watching him, maybe she could just leave. She was mad at herself for getting upset with Dick, and mad at Dick for being a confusing mess, and mad at Bruce for handling him so calmly and for having an assassin son and for dismissing her. She wasn't mad at Jason at the moment, but right now she needed a break from bats, needed to work on her own projects or maybe even see her own family.

"Hey," she said, approaching from the side so both Damian and Jason could see her coming and stop throwing sharp objects around. Jason twirled the knife he'd been preparing to throw around his fingers and shoved it through his belt. Damian rested his practice sword on his shoulder with a huff.

"You are interrupting," Damian said.

"How's your agility time?" Babs asked sweetly. Damian scowled at her.

"What's the word on, you know." Jason jerked his chin in the direction of the holding cells.

"Whatever Zatanna did, I think it worked. He's in a cell with no wards, but he hasn't made any move to escape."

"He's in a cell with no wards?" Jason said, standing a little straighter. Damian adjusted his grip on the sword, watching Jason.

"Yeah, but he's… different. Not like himself. Not how he was before, but also not, you know, all manic energy and unpredictability. Either he can't do magic anymore or he's got a hell of a lot more control over it," Babs said.

"Hoping for the first thing," Jason said. Barbara wondered if he was aware he was edging toward the stairs. "When will we know for sure?"

"I guess Zatanna is the final verdict on what exactly he can and can't do," Babs said.

Damian _tsk_ 'd. "Regardless, he should remain imprisoned. I can see no benefit in letting a creature like that go free."

Barbara was about to tell him he didn't know what he was talking about when Jason beat her to it. "You didn't know him before."

"And from what it sounds like, he _isn't_ what he was before," Damian argued. "Forget about him, Todd."

"I really wish I could," Jason said. He sighed. "Look, I'm heading back upstairs. I just wanted to check in, make sure everything was… not on fire. Or escaped. Damian, you okay down here?"

"Of course," Damian scoffed.

Jason nodded absently and headed for the stairs. Below, Barbara sighed. So much for getting away.

 

Jason slipped out around the grandfather clock in Bruce's study, then leaned back against it with a sigh, eyes closed. He hated being down in the Cave, but he still wandered down there, unable to stop checking in, to make sure Damian was fine, that Dick was still contained. It was like poking a sore tooth to make sure it still hurt.

Zatanna had returned the night after he, Dick, and Damian had arrived in Gotham and had wasted no time in performing whatever ritual she and Bruce had cooked up. Then Dick had, as far as Jason knew, slept for an entire day and an entire night. It was currently evening of the third day Jason had been back at the manor, which meant Dick had been locked in that cell for three days, even if he'd been unconscious for a large part of it.

Jason felt a small twinge of conscience at that. He knew that the confinement would make Dick miserable and panicky, but Jason felt _safe_. At least, he did when he was upstairs. And anyway, he hadn't broken his word; he'd only promised to help Dick break out if the ritual failed and it wasn't like Bruce was planning on _keeping_ Dick locked up. Or, he probably wasn't. The point was, Dick's status was currently undetermined and Jason was under no obligation to question Bruce's decision to keep him in that cell.

The grandfather clock gave a small rattle and Jason stepped away from it hurriedly. It swung open and Bruce, dressed now in casual clothes, ushered Damian through. Jason brightened.

"Hey, welcome topside," he said.

Damian _hmph_ 'd and looked around the study, supremely unimpressed.

"Alfred made up a room for you," Bruce said. He steered Damian toward the door. "We'll have to order you some everyday clothes, but for now there are some hand-me-downs stocked in the closet."

 _Hand-me-downs_ , Jason thought. Jason had never been Damian's size, not while he'd lived at the manor, so those would be Dick's old clothes, then. _That_ was going to be hilarious.

"Yes, yes," Damian said dismissively, digging in his heels before Bruce could take him farther. "Father, I understand that you have been preoccupied with the current situation, but when do I begin fighting at your side?"

Bruce eyed him. "You've been talking with your mother," he said. Jason's eyebrows went up along with the tension in the room. He looked around for an escape, but Bruce and Damian were standing practically in the doorway. He began trying to fade into the wallpaper.

"I— yes, of course," Damian said. "I contacted her as soon as I had opportunity. The appropriate channels were already set up on your network. Was this forbidden?"

"No," Bruce sighed. "Not forbidden. What did she tell you?"

"That I am to remain with you and that when I have learned all I can from you I shall return to her, my training complete."

"And then?"

"I fulfill my duties as heir to the demon's head."

"Just vague enough to work," Bruce muttered. "Damian, you're not ready to go out patrolling Gotham with me."

Damian bristled. "I have been trained by—"

"You haven't been trained by _me_."

"You're worried about hurting Drake's feelings when you replace him," Damian said, scornful.

"Tim earned his place. He earned my trust," Bruce said, his voice stone stern.

"Then so shall I," Damian said. Jason wondered if either was aware that they were standing in identical positions, legs spread shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, jaws set stubbornly.

He wondered how Tim Drake had earned his place. Jason's place.

A polite cough came from the hall outside the study. "If you gentlemen are through standing about in doorways, shall I escort Master Damian to his quarters?" Alfred asked primly.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said. "Damian, go with him."

Damian held himself stiffly and gave a jerky nod. "Yes, Father."

Alfred led him away and Bruce turned back to the study with a sigh. "How worried about him do I need to be?" he asked.

Jason blinked. He'd thought Bruce had forgotten he was there. "Uh, about Damian? He's not going to suddenly attack Alfred, if that's what you're wondering." To Jason's frustration, an old, familiar warmth spread through his chest at Bruce asking his opinion, valuing his input. He did his best to ignore it.

"If I thought he was going to do that, I wouldn't have let them go off alone," Bruce said dryly.

"Then…?"

Bruce leaned against the huge, walnut desk, arms folded. "What was his life like, with Talia?"

Jason's expression closed off, recognizing this as an oblique way of asking what Jason's years with them had been like. "Dunno. Didn't see most of it. Locked up in a cave, and all. I'm kinda tired, so…" It was six o'clock in the evening. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone, leastwise the World's Greatest Detective. He moved to leave anyway.

"Jason." Bruce put a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping him as he passed. Jason ran through thirteen different ways to remove that hand (from his shoulder, not from Bruce's wrist, though he knew how to do that, too) before taking a deep breath and stepping deliberately away. Bruce let his hand fall. "Jason, I'm sorry."

"I think you've said that already. It's getting hard to keep track since everyone keeps doing it."

"I'll be more specific. I'm sorry for not realizing you were alive. For not coming for you."

Jason stared at him. "Bruce, you couldn't _possibly_ have—"

"It happened in another universe."

"Wow. I didn't realize how much I did not miss sentences like that," Jason said, pinching the bridge of his nose. " _What_ happened in another universe?"

"You came back via Lazarus Pit. Another version of Dick ended up here and told me everything. I should have realized that there was a chance it had happened here, but enough was different…" Jason hadn't come back to Gotham to take it by storm, hadn't made his presence known with gunfire and explosive rage and a duffel of severed heads. "And you're different from what I know of your counterpart. You're still my son, Jason. If you want it, there's a place for you with Batman."

Jason sucked in a breath through his teeth. He felt like he'd been punched. "No," he said. Bruce looked hurt for a split second before smoothing over the expression. Jason pretended he hadn't seen. "I'm not the same, you can't offer that without knowing—" He broke off, stared at the carpet. "I'm a coward and a failure."

"Jason—"

"You didn't find me? _I_ didn't come back to _you_. I didn't want to escape, Bruce. I tried once, just once, thinking I'd save Damian, but he didn't want to be saved and then I just… stayed. It sucked, and it was selfish, but no matter how much it hurt I knew Talia didn't want to kill me so it was _safe_. I'm not a hero. Not sure I ever was."

"Stop," Bruce said and Jason straightened immediately, falling into the relaxed and ready position. Then he scowled because of course Bruce's conditioning would follow him out of the grave. "Listen to me."

Bruce waited until Jason made eye contact with him and almost smiled at the sullen, reluctant stare. It was plenty familiar. He didn't smile, though, and he didn't reach out to hold Jason, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"Jason, you came back to me. You brought Dick to me when I couldn't reach him myself. You brought me my _son_ , who I didn't even know existed. You succeeded everywhere I failed. I am proud of you."

Jason grimaced like he was in pain and turned away. "I messed up, though," he said. His voice was thick and Bruce recognized the tone of someone struggling not to fall apart. He let Jason have his privacy, didn't try to turn him back around or interrupt. "I did things you'd hate."

"Maybe," Bruce said. Jason's shoulders hunched. "You can tell me what you did if you want, but you don't have to. I'd never hate _you_."

"Even if… even if I killed someone? Even if it was more than once?"

Bruce forced himself not to react, not to demand details. "Did Talia make you do it?" he asked gently.

"I should have escaped. I should have tried to get away."

"Do you regret it?"

Jason's hands hung at his sides, his shoulders sloped downward in defeat. "I don't know. They were bad people, Bruce. Or, she told me they were."

"Talia is… a difficult person to say no to," Bruce said. "Has Damian told you the circumstances of his birth?"

Jason turned slightly, eyeing Bruce like this might be a trap. "No." And Jason had been wondering, because while he could understand Bruce having a heated night of passion with Talia, or even more than one, he couldn't believe he would ever do so without protection. He'd eventually figured Talia must have just stolen a hair or something and grown Damian from that; stranger things had happened.

Bruce glanced to the door. "She drugged me," he said, his voice flat. "Afterward, I thought it had been some kind of power play, maybe a way to force a connection between us. Maybe a way to get something else into my system. I ran every test I could think of and when I didn't find anything I just… Well. Bad people do bad things. They don't always need a reason. I tried not to think about it."

Jason felt like he'd swallowed his tongue. He had no idea what to say.

"No one knows except Alfred. Damian may not know the details himself. My point is that I said the same things to myself later: I should have suspected, I should have been more careful, she should never have been able to get me into that situation. You can't blame yourself."

Jason suddenly knew what Dick had been feeling when he'd declared he was going to kill Klarion back in Italy. Jason could have cheerfully murdered Talia at that precise moment. Somehow, though, he didn't think that was the right thing to say. "So, that's it?" he asked instead. "I get a free pass for murder? No big deal?"

"Does it feel like no big deal?"

"No, I feel like _shit_ , and even shittier since I made you bring up all that crap to help me deal with mine."

Bruce nodded. "It's a starting point. We'll figure out where to go from here. But it doesn't have to be tonight, or even tomorrow. I still mean everything I said. When you're ready, there's a place in the Cave for you."

"I might not ever be ready."

"That's all right, too. For now, though—" Bruce smiled and gestured to the open door. "Want to go see what Damian's made of his clothing options?"

Jason snorted. "You first."

 


	38. Gotham: 4 Months Ago

**Gotham  
 _4 Months Ago_**

It took time, more time than Batman would have liked, but finally Fate thought that she had a solution, something to not just contain Nightwing, but perhaps to help him.

Now they just had to catch him. Nightwing wasn't on Earth much lately, though Fate had encountered traces of him here and there in other parts of the universe. He was almost always with Klarion. And so, Batman concocted a plan.

From their encounter in the Libyan Desert, they knew that Nightwing was seeking knowledge on wards and interplanar physics. They would pull one of the ancient tomes on the subject from the Tower of Fate, dangle the bait in Gotham, and wait for Nightwing to come to them. Fate said that he should be able to sense the book the moment it left the tower. And so, Batman prepared.

"I'm sending you both to the Watchtower," he said. He, Batgirl, and Robin were in the Batcave.

"Um, why?" Batgirl asked. "Give us all a set of cuffs, we'll help you bring him in."

"Batgirl's right," Robin said. "You need backup."

"Doctor Fate is on standby, and if it comes down to needing Doctor Fate the amount of magic active in the area will make it extremely unsafe," Batman said. "We also don't want to give him the opportunity to use any of us as hostages against the others."

"So why not just leave it to Doctor Fate?" Batgirl asked.

Batman didn't answer, just set the coordinates and activated the zeta tube. Batgirl couldn't decide whether the answer was "raging guilt complex" or "raging control freak."

"Fine," Robin said. "But we're going to be monitoring the situation from the Watchtower and the minute it looks like you need help, we're zeta-ing right back down."

"Of course," Batman said, and if Batgirl and Robin thought it was a little odd that he didn't argue that point, they simply took the little victory gracefully and zeta-ed away.

At which point Batman removed their bio-signatures from the list of authorized zeta travelers. Cooperation from a full League member was required to authorize a new bio-signature and it would take those two _at least_ a day to get around that. The League had, of course, been instructed not to re-authorize either of them until Batman gave the all-clear, under pain of unspecified consequences.

It would have to be enough.

 

Unfortunately for Batman's plans, Dick had finally amassed all the knowledge he needed to break through an interdimensional wall. It had taken years to collect it, because after the incident with the Reach Klarion had put a very short leash on him. He had to work to get Klarion distracted enough that he could slip away to chase his own research. He was looking for a way to escape more permanently, and for that he needed time, distance, and an anchor. He had a plan that would net him all three, but until he had the right opportunity he suffered through Klarion dragging him along, "borrowing" his power when he felt like it. When he occasionally escaped to Earth, he avoided Gotham and the whole Eastern Seaboard on principal.

Dick walked a fine line between giving in to Klarion's demands and not being so boring that he ended up locked in a box somewhere. Klarion was delighted at any act of rebellion from Dick because it kept him entertained. But a large part of that entertainment was in punishing Dick, so Dick had to plan his actions very carefully. Once or twice he overshot, earning himself punishments so severe that he was out of commission for long periods of time (like the time Klarion decided he was going to take up canning and bled Dick of his power over and over again as he tried to find a way to preserve it for future use).

But now… now he was ready. Even as Batman prepared to lure him to Gotham, Dick stood on Roanoke Island and summoned all of his power. Whatever he found in this new dimension, he felt sure it would finally lead to freedom.

 


	39. The Batcave: Now

**The Batcave  
 _Now_**

"This is a mistake," Tim said. He stood with Babs and Jason and Damian in the middle of the Cave. Bruce was with Dick and Zatanna in the medical area, doing one last examination. Tim was still pretty pissed at both Barbara and Bruce for not telling him they were doing the ritual. Barbara was planning on bribing him with an all-night hackathon later to get him to thaw.

"For once, I agree," Damian said.

"We can't just keep him locked up here forever," Barbara said. "We've been testing him for weeks. It's the real deal. He's… good."

Jason said nothing, hands in his pockets, the glowstone smooth beneath one of his palms. He worked his fingers over it, turning it again and again as he watched Dick from a distance. Finally, Zatanna nodded and Dick slid off the exam table, plucking up a small rucksack and stalking away from both her and Bruce without a backward glance.

He was dressed casually, in his own clothes, which had been supplied to him when it was clear he'd be staying a while. It hadn't done much to ease the discomfort of being kept in a locked cell, or having tests performed on him. Zatanna's poking and prodding was gentle and generally noninvasive, either physically or psychically, but it was still _testing._

Dick reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of sunglasses that would hide his strange eyes completely. Most of his power was locked away under his skin, anchored inward by the symbols that had inked themselves in various places on his person. Dick had discovered eight, if he counted the one that began at the base of his skull and traveled all the way down his spine in a series of interlocking shapes to be just one.

He contained multitudes, and all he felt for it was a slight hum near the marks when he got agitated. He could see perfectly in the dark, though, and he could sense the fabric of the universe, if he focused. Other than that, he was… normal.

Someone – Alfred, he suspected – had left one of his old Nightwing suits in the bag when they'd given it to him after Dick had made it clear he intended to leave (if he was allowed). Dick had taken the suit right back out and left it in the cell.

Now he paused, looking at the line of sidekicks arrayed near the stairs. Tim stared steadily at him, and Dick didn't miss the way Barbara had positioned herself to easily step between them if necessary. Damian had done much the same with Jason.

He thought about apologizing to Tim – he didn't think he'd gotten around to that yet – but the kid hated him, that was clear. It wasn't a bridge he needed to rebuild. Let him hate him. Maybe it would give him the strength to survive being Robin. Jason, though…

Jason was wearing the coat Dick had given him.

"You don't have to stay," Dick blurted. Jason looked surprised to be addressed. "You didn't want to come back. You don't have to stay."

Jason just looked at him, quiet for so long Dick was pretty sure he was just going to ignore what he'd said. Then, "You asked me to come with you once. A long time ago. You didn't know where you were going, though. You know now?"

Dick shrugged half-heartedly. "Wherever it is, you can come. Any time."

"I'm staying, Dick. But you don't have to go."

Dick practically heard the creak of tendons as Tim's jaw clenched at that. He knew it wasn't easy for Jason to offer either. Dick might not have killed Jason with his own hands, but he looked exactly like the person who had.

"Yeah, I do. See you around, little wing, Babs." He gave them a nod and turned to the stairs, pretending not to hear Damian's muttered, "You better not."

When Dick was out of earshot, Tim turned to Babs. "It's a mistake," he repeated.

"Guess we'll see," Barbara said.

"Come, Todd," Damian said, taking Jason by the wrist. "You need a distraction. You will time me on the agility course." He pulled Jason away toward the training area, and Jason went without complaint or reaction.

"Huh. Wonder what his time is," Tim said.

"Not as good as yours, yet," Barbara reassured him. "Hey, you want to head back to my place and work on Project Hessian?"

"No," Tim said stubbornly.

"Really?"

Tim sighed. "No. Let's go. I'm still mad at you, though."

"I have pizza rolls and cherry Zesti."

"I'm slightly less mad."

"Excellent," Barbara said, leading the way to the bikes. Bruce and Zatanna were deep in conversation. She wasn't sure Bruce even noticed her wave to signal she was leaving. "Hey," she said to Tim as they wheeled the bikes out. "You get that it's over now, right?"

"What is?" Tim asked.

"The whole Nightwing thing. Mission accomplished. You can let it go."

"What makes you think I haven't already let it go?"

"The fact that I've known you for more than two seconds," Barbara said. "I'm just saying, you became Robin for a reason, right? I mean seriously, you weren't fooling anyone. But you're going to have to find a new reason to do what we do. Do a little soul searching, see where you end up."

"Are you… trying to talk me out of being Robin?" Tim asked, rolling to a halt.

"No, not at all," Babs said. She climbed onto her bike. "I'm just saying your Robin might look a little different after today. Actually, I was thinking, if you need a little space to spread your wings… the Clocktower's pretty big."

"What, really?"

Babs snapped her helmet on and started her bike. The sound of the engine thrummed through the Cave.

"Hang on, wait, really?" Tim asked again.

"Already made you a key," Barbara said. "You coming?" She kicked off and roared away. Tim yelped, shoving his own helmet on hastily and sped after her, a grin he couldn't help (and didn't want to) spreading across his face.

 

Alfred was waiting for Dick at the front door. "I brought your bike around," he said. "Since I'm told teleportation is no longer a viable method of transportation for you."

Dick let one corner of his mouth smile. "No, no it is not. Thanks, Alf." He settled the backpack more securely on his shoulders, made sure his sunglasses were in place, and opened the door. It was cloudy, because it was Gotham.

"Master Dick." Alfred called his attention and held out a small blue cardboard box. "For you. As a reminder that I believe in you."

Dick took it numbly. "Alfred, you don't have to—"

"Open it later, when you settle wherever you're going. It's fragile."

Dick felt his eyes prickling and blinked rapidly, not wanting to deal with crying. His tears were weird now. His Superman pajama pants had permanent glitter splotches on them. "Thank you," he said.

"You are welcome." He put a hand on Dick's arm, squeezing lightly. "Any time."

Dick nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. He tucked the box carefully into the top of the backpack, swaddled in soft clothing, and got onto the bike. Alfred pointedly handed him a helmet and he took it with a dry smile. Then he nudged the motorcycle into gear and took off down the winding drive, through the open gates, and to whatever came next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed reading - and if you did, please consider stopping by the comment box and kudos button as you exit the fic :)
> 
> I typically hesitate to talk about what comes next because I'm a little fickle in my writing habits. But let's just say that while this fic is complete, I'm not marking the series as finished just yet. I do need a break from it, though, so expect whatever comes next from me to be a little different (hopefully a little lighter, as a palate cleanser!)


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